


After the Silence Has Returned

by Telaryn



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Anger, Angst, Brainwashing, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Demons, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Episode Related, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Headcanon, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Magical Accidents, Marriage, Near Death Experience, Psychological Torture, Public Sex, Season/Series 06, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Secrets, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 45,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telaryn/pseuds/Telaryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slightly AU look at SPN Season 6 - a world where Dean is married to Faith the Vampire Slayer, although Sam is still very much a physical and emotional part of the relationship.  Eliot is drawn into their lives during the year that Sam and Dean are apart - hired by Bobby to act as Dean's protector, and make sure that he has the option of remaining out of the supernatural world.</p><p>Unbeknownst to all of them, The King of Hell – master manipulator – has plans for the long game that don’t involve Sam and Dean remaining apart, and that don’t involve Faith remaining sane.</p><p>What Crowley hasn't considered in all his scheming is the very personal interest of a very powerful third party, who also knows that Sam’s soul is closer than His Majesty knows, and the price for not returning it to Sam’s body in time is going to be higher than anyone realizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Makes Noise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2011 Supernatural Cross Big Bang. The title and section headings are all lyrics from the Suzanne Vega's song "Blood Makes Noise". Once upon a time I wrote many fics in an alternate universe, where Faith was an integral part of Sam and Dean's lives.
> 
> Then Leverage happened, and I was seduced by the potential of pairing Faith with Eliot Spencer. "After the Silence Has Returned" is my return to the 'verse I wrote in so heavily once upon a time, trying to figure out how S6 would have played out if Faith had been there.
> 
> The staggeringly beautiful artwork is by Nyxocity.

**Chapter One**

  


_Dean…_

It was the first time Faith had been free to think about him in longer than she could remember. The memory of everything they’d been – everything they’d lost – hurt like an unexpected punch to the gut; she curled reflexively on her side, trying to breathe through the pain.

_”No matter how things go down with me and Sam, you have to promise not to interfere.” He’d held both her hands in his, his thumb worrying against the surface of the ring he’d placed on her left hand what seemed at this point like a lifetime ago._

_“Dean…” She’d tried, but there had been no room for compromise in his gaze. Not about this. Their options were exhausted, and the three of them had come too far to just give up. Faith knew the plan by heart – knew her role in it – but it didn’t make the inevitable easier to swallow._

_“I’m serious, Faith,” Dean said. She could feel him willing her to understand and not fight him. “Whatever happens today, one of us has to keep an eye on the big picture. You and I both know that’s not gonna be me.”_

She’d still almost abandoned the plan in the end, unable to bear watching the physical punishment he was taking at Sam’s hands. Every blow, every grunt of pain had echoed in her own flesh until Faith thought she’d die from it. Only the understanding that this was bigger than any one person and the acceptance that none of them really had a prayer of walking off this battlefield alive kept her focused and in position.

_”Slayers have a nasty habit of interfering in Destiny’s plans…”_

Sam had to take Lucifer into the cage. That fact was non-negotiable – the fate of the world literally depended on it. When Michael showed up intending to prevent it happening, Dean had been too injured to continue the fight.

Faith had been forced to step in.

Michael was operating an imperfect vessel – Sam and Dean’s brother Adam. Sam had managed to stay Lucifer’s hand for a few precious seconds. Together it was the opening they needed to pull victory from defeat, and Faith hadn’t hesitated. Without a single backward glance at Dean, she tackled the feuding angels; her momentum carried all three of them into the Cage, and out of the world of the living. In order to save billions of people who would never have a clue they were even in danger, she’d done what was necessary.

They all had, in the end.

 _Life…_ The smell of earth and growing things filled Faith’s nostrils, gradually overwhelming the screaming and death that had dominated her reality for too long. The sun was warm on her skin – not the cruel, sick joke they’d occasionally been tortured with while she and Sam had been at Michael and Lucifer’s mercy. An impossibly blue sky arched overhead, and in the distance Faith could hear birds.

The idea of someday being free had never once occurred to her. She’d lived moment to moment, defending Sam as best she could from their cosmic cellmates.

“Sam.” Rolling to her knees, Faith looked around – frantically searching for some sign that he’d been freed with her. _If I got out and he didn’t…_ The idea was almost too horrible to contemplate. Faith had found a fit for herself in Sam and Dean’s lives mostly by accepting that she would always come second to the bond they shared with each other. She’d protected Sam from Michael and Lucifer with every resource at her disposal because she loved him, and because it was what Dean would have done in her place.

She sensed Sam a second before she saw him – sprawled in the grass about twenty yards from her position. Faith swore, leaping to her feet and running towards him. “Sam?”

He was only just starting to regain consciousness as she dropped to her knees beside him. Faith almost cried with relief when she realized he was whole and unmarked. _Certainly not like the last time I saw you,_ she thought, reaching out to smooth a lock of his hair back off his face.

The physical contact brought him awake in a rush. “Faith…what?” He struggled to sit up; eyes wild as he took in their surroundings. “What happened? Where are we?”

Faith stayed at his side, but she looked around as well. “That does seem to be the million dollar question,” she said. “No, don’t get up yet,” she went on, when Sam moved like he was going to try and stand.

He did what she asked. Faith could see him trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind, and wondered what, if anything, of their ordeal he remembered. Finally he blew out a breath and looked at her. “We’re alive?”

Faith laughed, but the sound was shaky in the gentle breeze that wrapped itself around them. “Seems like.” She checked out their surroundings again. There were no signs of people - human or otherwise - although it looked to Faith like the same weather they’d left behind them a lifetime ago. “We’re definitely back in the bone yard, although I’ve got no clue as to the when.”

“Faith…”

She twisted back towards Sam, who leaned forward and kissed her.

  


_So warm…God…_

Pressing into her, Sam rode Faith backwards into the grass. Awareness of her, so real and _alive_ was like food to his starving body – filling and overwhelming his senses. Her leather clad thigh brushed against the bulge in his jeans; groaning, Sam rolled his hips into her to increase the friction. Faith wound her arms around his neck, arching up into him as she kissed him back.

Holding her against him with one hand, Sam ran his other hand across her body; brushing across breasts, belly, hips and thighs – memorizing every inch of her he could reach. Faith was far more direct; still holding onto Sam with one hand, she worked the other between their bodies, tugging at his fly until she got it open far enough to slip her hand inside and press it against his cock. The contact made him gasp and rock his hips into her hard.

The play of hands and mouth grew more intense between them as they fumbled past buttons, zippers, and leather so tight it was like a second skin. Sam was half-insane with need by the time their clothes were cast aside, and he could finally bury himself in the reality of Faith’s body.

Faith rose to meet his thrusts, wrapping her legs tight so tight around his waist he could barely move. Sam caught her wrists and pinned them to the ground with one hand. He ran his other hand down the side of her throat, palm skimming lightly across her nipples, fingers tracing the curve of her breasts, watching her as she gasped and moaned and writhed beneath him.

 _Want…take…have…_ It never once occurred to him that the only way he kept Faith pinned was with her permission – the primal urge to hold her down, to take what he wanted _when_ he wanted, left him feeling more powerful and in control of himself and his life than he had in an unimaginably long time.

Lowering his head, Sam captured Faith's mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Her hips locked into his; her cunt muscles tightened brutally hard around his cock as she shook with her first orgasm. Sam kept his mouth on hers as he slipped over the edge himself; coming so hard it was almost painful.

The world spun around him; Sam’s head was reeling by the time his body remembered how to move again. Muttering an apology, he let go his grip on Faith’s wrists and slowly eased himself off her, but not before he caught sight of vivid red marks on her skin where he’d held her down.

“S’alright,” Faith assured him, propping herself up on one elbow as Sam collapsed onto his back. “I think we both earned that one.” Squinting, she glanced up at the sky. “At least whatever sprung us brought us back in good weather. This reminds me of the day we went in.”

 _…the day we went in…_ Sam rolled the phrase around in his mind, and was disturbed to find that it didn’t fit. “What did you just say?” he asked, looking at Faith.

She twigged to his confusion immediately. “What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked, sobering.

Sam tried to puzzle out an answer to the question. “Wrestling Lucifer down,” he said finally. “I was backing away from Dean, going for the Cage. Then…Adam…” He shook his head, focusing on Faith again. “That’s it, until now. I never saw you.”

She was quiet for a long moment, obviously mulling over what he’d said. “Sam, we went into the Cage,” she said finally. “You, me and Adam.” Her expression was troubled, but she pushed on. “I don’t know exactly how long we were in there, but it was a while.”

Stunned, Sam half-rose into a sitting position. “A while? How long is a while, Faith?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, okay? Different dimension – the time-space continuum gets a little weird. Felt like years, but it could have been anything from seconds to centuries.” She shuddered, and Sam caught a flash of memory in her dark eyes. “You really don’t remember anything?”

Sam didn’t understand why she wouldn’t believe him, but checked his memory again just to make sure. “Nothing outside of what I told you.” He sat the rest of the way up and started looking for his clothes. “We’ve got to figure out what happened. Why we’re out and at whose hand?”

“And when,” Faith said. “Pegging the year would be a damn good start.”

“We need to find Dean,” Sam said, grabbing his jeans.

  


It was surreal. Every time Dean tried to wrap his mind around the fact that less than a week earlier he'd been at Ground Zero of an apocalyptic battle, reality turned sideways on him.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Startled, he glanced up to see Lisa had appeared in the doorway. Smiling vaguely, he nodded. “Be right there.”

She clearly wasn’t buying it. “Dean, if you’re not ready…” Her eyes were shadowed with the same deep concern that he’d seen there every minute since he’d shown up on her doorstep.

He shook his head, still smiling. “Everybody’s gotta eat, right?” He poured himself a full tumbler of Scotch, and waved her on. “I’m right behind you – I promise.”

Glancing at the alcohol, she moved closer to him. “You don’t have to rush this, you know,” she repeated. “It’s a huge loss – you’re allowed to take some time to deal with it.”

 _How much time?_ Intellectually Dean appreciated what Lisa was trying to do, but this was something he wasn't ever going to be able to face and survive. It was too big – too all encompassing. All he had left to cling to was his promise to Sam that he would keep going; that he would have the normal life they’d always craved. Without it, Dean knew he would have never made it to Cicero; he would have crawled into a bar somewhere and drank himself to death.

He still didn’t understand why Lisa hadn’t slammed the door in his face, but he wasn’t stupid enough to question it. Without her and Ben to anchor him to the world of the living, Dean knew he would never be able to keep his promise.

And he wasn’t going to fail his brother now. Not after everything that had happened.

Dean gently brushed the tips of his fingers against Lisa’s cheek. “Thanks,” he said softly.

Her dark eyes – Dean struggled not to draw the parallel between her gaze and Faith’s – glinted with unshed tears. “Come on,” she said, taking his free hand and leading him towards the dining room. “Dinner’s getting cold.”

 _Dining room,_ Dean thought, looking around as he entered. _Wow._ Ben was already at the table, looking at Dean with a barely restrained mixture of fear and excitement.

“Looks good, huh?” Dean asked, trying to feign interest in the food Lisa was busy setting in the center of the table.

As much as he was obviously trying to be on his best behavior, Ben wasn’t quite old enough or sophisticated enough to hide that he was less than thrilled with his mother’s choice of menu. “I liked last night’s dinner better,” he admitted, while Lisa busied herself distributing portions of whatever the main dish was. Dean thought she might have mentioned what they were going to be eating, but he was still losing large chunks of time to stress and grief.

“Me too,” he confessed, glancing down at the multi-colored mixture on his plate. Ben grinned, obviously happy to have Dean on his side.

“In this house cheeseburgers are a treat, not a staple,” Lisa declared, setting the casserole dish in the center of the table and taking her own seat. She glared at Dean, but he could see a twinkle of humor in her eyes. “And ketchup is _not_ a vegetable.”

“Vegetable?” Dean made a show of not understanding what she was saying. I know you’re speaking English, but I don’t understand this word you keep using?”

It was enough to break the thin veneer of tension still lying across the room, and while Ben and Lisa laughed at his joke Dean inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. _You can do this,_ he told himself as he scooped up his first forkful of…whatever it was…and put it into his mouth.

 _Edible,_ he decided after chewing and swallowing. He couldn’t detect that the dish had ever been within five miles of anything resembling meat, but he supposed the odds of it killing or incapacitating him were fairly remote.

 _Vegetables. I’m having a sit down, family dinner in a dining room, with…vegetables._ He took a slightly larger drink of his Scotch than he’d intended, and tried to ignore the glances Ben and Lisa were exchanging.

_Wherever you are, Sam, I hope this is everything you wanted._

  


**Chapter Two**

_Three days. Three fucking days and we’re too late._ Faith was so angry she wanted to kill something.

 _Go across the street!_ a voice in her head screamed. _Knock on the damn door!_ But no matter how much she wanted to, Faith couldn’t seem to make her feet move.

  


“Looks…cozy,” Sam said, and it was enough to crack the little self-control Faith was managing to hold onto. Pivoting, she punched him in the chest – not hard enough to knock him down, but hard enough to stagger him.

His expression was stunned, but not wounded – and that pissed her off even more. “Nobody’s stopping you from going in there,” he pointed out.

Faith looked in the dining room window again and felt her chest tighten against old pain. _Yeah…nothing except that kid._ She’d never stooped to fighting for a man before, but she liked to think if it had just been Lisa to deal with she would have been “damn the torpedoes” about the whole mess.

Problem was, it wasn’t just Lisa. Faith hadn’t stopped to consider that Lisa had a son – a son Dean had once thought might be his own flesh and blood and who was probably already starting to bond with mom’s new live-in boyfriend. “Fucking hell,” she spat.

Sam snorted. “No pun intended, right?”

“You could at least _act_ like you’re upset about this!” she growled, rounding on him again.

Sam was still infuriatingly calm. As far as Faith could tell, his emotional temperature hadn’t budged more than half a degree in any direction since they’d left Kansas. Fear that whatever had taken his memory had taken away other vital pieces of his psyche as well reared up again, and again she forced it back.

“I’m not upset,” he said, confirming what Faith had already known he was feeling. “Look at what Dean’s got in there – everything we’ve both wanted our entire lives.” He gestured at the idyllic family scene framed by the perfect fucking picture window. “I won’t stop you from going in there and letting him know what’s happened, but I want you to take a second first and consider what it’s going to mean.”

He stopped, and even in the dim light Faith could see him swallow. “He’s out, Faith. Against all odds he’s free. He’s got a family – a normal family – and he’s relatively intact. What would we be dragging him back into?”

There was literally nothing Faith could say in response. Everything from _our family_ to _I love him_ was suddenly so stupidly inadequate in the face of all the things Dean would suddenly never have to worry about again. _Wait._

“We’re being stupid if we just leave him here unprotected,” she said. “Once word gets out that we’re free, Dean becomes a perfect target to get us to do whatever generic badass A, B, or C wants.”

She could tell the thought hadn’t occurred to Sam. “We’ll go see Bobby. He’ll help us figure something out.”

  


Sam breathed a small sigh of relief as they finally drove away from the Braeden house. He was never going to be able to explain to Faith what it meant to him seeing Dean settled like that. He'd always been the biggest champion of his brother's relationship with Faith, but facts were facts.

Staying with the dark haired Slayer meant more of the same for Dean - monsters, blood and death until he ended up on the wrong side of something he wasn’t prepared to fight. It was a hunter’s life – a Slayer’s too, if Sam was being perfectly honest about the situation – and thanks to the promise he’d gotten out of Dean it no longer had to be his brother’s fate.

Once Faith had dropped off to sleep, Sam searched his feelings in the quiet darkness, and realized he couldn’t feel sorry for any of it.

Memory loss couldn’t shield him from a growing awareness that he’d changed. Whatever had happened to him in Lucifer’s Cage, he’d emerged a calmer, more determined version of himself. The idea of going back to hunting didn’t bother him at all – in fact, it made such perfect sense that it never occurred to him to question the impulse.

There were worse ways he could spend the rest of his life.

Faith stirred in her sleep, drawing his attention briefly from the highway. She was angry at the way things had turned out, but he couldn’t help hoping she would stick around once they got things with Dean settled. He could do so much worse than having a Slayer as his partner, and Faith…

 _Dangerous and hot – what’s not to like?_ His libido had been running disturbingly high since they’d left Kansas, and even though Sam knew he’d be taking his life in his hands by suggesting it right now, the urge to pull over and try to charm Faith out of her clothes was suddenly so strong that he shivered involuntarily.

 _No. Focus, dammit._ Sam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He had to have things figured out before they reached South Dakota, otherwise he was going to end up just going along with whatever Faith or Bobby thought was best.

The first hints of dawn were lightening the sky behind them when Sam found a likely-looking all night diner near the Minnesota state line. Parking the car, he opened the driver’s side door and put one foot on the pavement before reaching over to jostle Faith. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” he said, tensing to leap out of reach in case she woke up swinging. “Breakfast time.”

One dark eye opened and fixed him with a murderous glare. “If you really loved me you’d have coffee,” Faith growled.

“Coffee’s inside,” he countered, grinning at her. “I don’t deliver.”

  


Faith watched Sam cross the parking lot and tried to convince herself food was worth moving for. _Sonofabitch must’ve driven all night,_ she thought, trying to work the kinks out of sleep-stiffened muscles.

She felt numb, as though once she turned her back on Dean and his ‘Leave it to Beaver’ fantasy life, someone had scooped out everything that made her Faith and left it rotting on the sidewalk. “Hell was easier to deal with than this,” she grumbled, opening her own door and getting to her feet. She’d been an idiot to think that the mere fact of them leaving Lucifer’s Cage would set everything right again. _When has life ever been that easy?_

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The phrase drifted through her mind, and she pushed it back with a snarl. _Post-traumatic implies that the trauma is…post._ And given that whoever had dragged them into the light had apparently decided she would be just fine retaining all memory of however long they’d been tortured, Faith suspected it would be a long time before she would be able to put this particular load of trauma in her past.

 _You can’t tell him,_ her conscience reminded her as she entered the diner and nodded in response to Sam’s wave. _Protect Sammy_ – it was the first commandment of the Winchester family, and Faith had bought into it years ago as firmly as anyone who’d been born to the name.

She slid into the booth opposite Sam and took a menu for herself. “You should have let me drive some,” she said, studying the menu and avoiding his eyes.

“I wasn’t tired,” he countered. “You can pull a stretch after we eat.”

Faith forced herself to consider the menu options. She wasn’t really hungry, but her memory of the past few days had enough holes in it that she wasn’t entirely sure what or when they’d eaten. _Odds are good it wasn’t enough._

“Where are we?” she asked, once the waitress had taken their order and given Sam the obligatory appreciative leer. “Illinois?”

Sam nodded. “If we push it, we can probably be at Bobby’s by midnight.”

Faith realized she was absent-mindedly turning her wedding ring on her finger. “Considering we're showing up on his doorstep as pretty much walking corpses, we should probably grab a hotel tonight and give him his heart attack at breakfast.” She glanced at Sam. “You can't tell me you'd be up for another night of sleeping in the car.”

He shrugged. “I’ll manage. You’re right though – if we’re going to be running the gauntlet of holy water and silver anyway, probably best to do it in the morning.”

They ate in relative silence. The food was good and there was plenty of it – Faith tried to focus on the demands of her body instead of listening to the thoughts that were suddenly crowding what little free space she had left in her brain.

When they were finished, Faith went outside while Sam paid the check. She was starting to feel claustrophobic, which in her life before would have meant it was past time to hit the road – new towns and new faces. _Can’t do that,_ she reminded herself as she slid up on the hood of the Charger and let the sun’s rays play over her skin. _You’ve got ties now – responsibilities. You’re a fucking grown-up._

She suddenly became aware of her ring again. _Selfish to hold onto it,_ she thought, raising her hand and studying the circle of plain white gold. _He’s got a real chance at happiness with that kid – he gave me this when he didn’t think he could do any better._

“You bound yourself to those boys, Faith. Such commitments cannot be set aside without consequences.”

Startled, Faith looked up and saw an old man was watching her – standing approximately ten feet away. She started to say something appropriately sarcastic about it being none of the old coot’s business, but the words wouldn’t come. Impossibly sober all of a sudden, she slid back off the hood of the car – sensing that this was someone you stood in front of.

“I am pleased with you,” he said. She saw a flash of silver between his fingers; both hands were wrapped around the knob of a slender walking stick. “Destiny’s spoiler indeed.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said - _those_ words coming to her lips automatically. He was pleased with her…she liked that he was pleased with her. She _wanted_ him to be pleased with her. “Why do you care about my connection to the boys?”

The old man’s eyes ticked to her finger, then back. “When a Slayer binds her life to the likes of Sam and Dean Winchester, the universe takes notice, Faith. _I_ take notice.”

  


_Who the hell is that?_ Sam shaded his eyes, looking across the parking lot. Faith was standing next to the Charger, squared off with an older, very proper looking man in a very formal suit. He was too far away to be able to hear what they were saying, but panic drove him forward across the asphalt nonetheless.

 _She can’t change the plan. Not without talking with me first._ Sam drew up short, stopping in his tracks as he matched the stray thought against the surge of almost primal possessiveness that shivered through him. _Where the hell did that come from?_

Taken individually, Sam knew that any of the changes in his nature since coming out of the Cage could easily be ignored or explained away. This, though... Faith didn’t belong to him, and he had no logical basis for assuming that she did. Even though she and Dean had always made him feel emotionally and physically included in their relationship, Sam had never once lost sight of the fact that her heart belonged first and foremost to his brother.

A moment later, Sam realized Faith was alone and staring at him. “Before you ask,” she said, once he’d joined her, “I don’t have the slightest idea who that was.”

Sam managed to choke down his first response, which would have been guaranteed to start an argument. Instead he asked, “What did he want?”

Faith’s expression softened, growing uncharacteristically thoughtful. “I’m not really sure.”

  


“Dean – wake up!”

Battle-honed reflexes had him in motion before his brain was fully engaged – groping automatically for the gun that no longer lived under his pillow.

“Dean, focus. We need to talk.”

The voice was familiar, but not friendly. Forcing himself awake, Dean realized that Tessa the Reaper was standing by his bed. “What…what the hell are you doing here?” Panic shot through him, and he twisted around to check on Lisa. She was sleeping peacefully, apparently unaware of their nocturnal visitor.

The spike in his heart rate slowed, leaving anger in its wake. “You’ve got no business here,” Dean growled, turning back to face the dark-haired reaper. “I don’t give a crap what kind of cosmic duty you think you have – Lisa and Ben are off limits.”

Tessa snorted, stepping back far enough to let him sit up. “Your…friend…and her boy are fine, Dean. This isn’t an official visit.”

Dean caught the tone in her voice. “Jealous?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hardly.” After a moment she sighed. “Do you really want to do this here? I can’t guarantee she’ll stay asleep.” She indicated Lisa again with a small jerk of her chin.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Wonderful._ He’d promised himself time and again that he would keep Lisa and Ben away from the freaky stuff. _And that definitely includes you,_ he thought, eyeing Tessa balefully. Even though she was visually stunning in her human form, as a reaper Tessa was the textbook definition of “freaky”.

“Downstairs,” he said finally, catching himself in a yawn.

  


Once they reached the relative privacy of the kitchen, Dean headed immediately for the coffee maker. “I’ve gotta be at work by seven,” he said, off Tessa’s curious glance. “Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be going back to sleep after you’ve had your say.”

He knew Tessa couldn’t have cared less about his schedule, but she didn’t object as he went about the ritual of assembling the ingredients and starting the brew cycle. Dean was grateful for the respite, as it allowed him to shake off even more of the fog of interrupted sleep. _Good thing I’m not being attacked,_ he thought, momentarily annoyed with himself for letting his hunter’s reflexes lapse so quickly.

“All right,” he said finally, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the counter. “Talk.”

Tessa sighed. “I am tasked with delivering two messages.” Dean blinked, startled in spite of his resolve not to care about whatever it was she thought was so important. There was only one being in all of creation that would dare use a reaper of Tessa’s caliber as a common messenger.

“How is the old boy?” he asked – unable to resist the urge to smart off even a little bit.

“Not very happy with you,” Tessa countered. “His messages are for you to finish what you started…”

Anger flashed through Dean at that, bringing him upright. “I did everything that sonofabitch asked me to,” he growled, taking a step in Tessa’s direction. “Sam went into the Cage. I didn’t stop him. I even lost my _wife_ making sure it happened, so how _dare_ he tell me to fucking finish what I started?”

“Dean,” Tessa said, holding up a hand. “Faith was always part of this. From the second she bound herself to you, it was always going to end up here.”

He suddenly knew beyond any reasonable doubt that he didn’t want to talk about Sam or Faith with Tessa. Fate…destiny…it was hard enough dealing with the fact they were gone. Hearing how their deaths had been preordained or served some higher purpose was only going to make him angrier. “Two messages,” he said finally, his voice cold. “What’s the second?”

Tessa sighed. “No one remembers to ask the caretaker how they’re feeling.”

  


 

**Chapter Three**

“Hey, Bobby.”

Even though Bobby suspected on some level that his brain had already been preparing him for this, tears still sprang to his eyes when he opened the door and saw Sam and Faith standing on his porch - whole and alive. He indulged himself in a hug from Sam and a quick, firm grasp of Faith’s shoulder, before ushering the two of them inside.

What he didn't do was let his relief overwhelm his good sense; as happy as he was to see the two of them alive, Bobby hadn’t reached this point in his life by being stupidly sentimental. Sam and Faith submitted to the standard barrage of tests without complaint.

“So,” he said, once initial stories had been swapped, and they were settled around the kitchen table. “Dean on his way?”

Sam and Faith immediately exchanged the expected guilty looks, and Bobby sighed. “All right you two,” he said, pulling out a chair and joining them. “Spill.”

It was typical self-sacrificing Winchester logic. “You’re ready to walk away based on one quick peep job?” he asked once Sam had finished laying out the scene he and Faith had witnessed. “Don’t you think your brother deserves to know that you’re alive, boy?” He glanced at Faith, who was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest, worrying at the corner of her thumbnail. She’d barely said two words since the initial round of greetings.

“Bobby, he’s safe,” Sam said. “That was the deal. No more blood, no more demons – Lisa and Ben love him. He can have a normal life.”

Bobby looked at Faith again, expecting her to say _something_ in response to Sam’s assessment of Lisa and Ben, if nothing else. Instead she stayed quiet, staring off into space.

“You two planning on going back to work?” he asked finally, looking at Sam again.

After a quick, sidelong glance at Faith, Sam nodded. “You’ve got to have a lead or two we can follow up?”

“We need some way of keeping Dean out of it,” Faith said quietly.

Before she could say anything else, Sam elaborated. “We can’t afford to have him hanging out there as a potential hostage once word gets around that we’re back in the game.” It was a cold assessment of the situation, but Bobby couldn’t fault his logic.

“You want to put a babysitter on your brother,” he said finally. Sam nodded. “Eyes only, or full-on protection?”

“Mostly eyes only,” Sam said. “Somebody who could handle himself in a fight wouldn’t be a bad thing, though.”

Bobby turned the parameters over in his mind. None of it sat right in his heart, but every reason he could raise for the two of them to let Dean know that they were free paled against Sam’s one best argument.

Dean was out. He had a family and a regular life – everything Bobby knew John had always wanted for his sons. The twin loss of Sam and Faith had bought him that, and painful and soul-shattering as it had been to recover from it, he _was_ working his way through the grieving process. _Do I take that away from him?_

”You’re awful damn quiet,” he said finally, looking directly at Faith. “You have anything to add?” _Wow - if looks could kill,_ he thought, when she glared at him.

“Sam and I’ve already had this fight,” she said, “and I really don’t feel like going through it again. Can you help us or not?”

God forgive him, Bobby didn’t like the girl. He never had – and if he hadn’t known Dean as well as he did, he would have blamed the madness that took the two of them to the altar entirely on her. That said, it didn’t fit with the woman he’d come to know that she would just stand by and agree to keep Sam and Dean apart.

 _Not your problem,_ he reminded himself. “Yeah, I know somebody,” he said at last. “Guy’s the best at this sort of stuff. He’ll do what we need for as long as we need.”

“What’ll it cost?” Sam asked. It was the right question – the sensible question – but there was something about the way he asked it that got under Bobby’s skin.

“Lucky for you,” he said, “Eliot owes me a pretty big favor. Not enough to buy us forever, but it will get us a few months free of charge.”

“After that, what’re we looking at?”

Bobby chuckled bitterly. “Boy, if you’re looking to have your brother baby-sat long term, it ain’t gonna be cheap no matter who you get.”

“He can do the job?” Faith asked, before Sam could say anything else.

Bobby nodded. “The kid’s the best at what he does. Not as much supernatural experience as a hunter, but your average hunter ain’t equipped to play Joe the Plumber on an open-ended basis either.”

“Not to mention Dean would peg another hunter right off the bat,” Sam said dismissively. “No, this is good, Bobby. How soon do you think he can start?”

Bobby shrugged. “Best I call him and find out.”

  


“Winchester!”

Startled, Dean looked up – thumbing off the power saw he’d been manipulating. The middle-aged man in charge of his crew was standing across the sawhorses from him. “Yeah boss?” he asked, pitching his voice to be heard over the noise around them.

The man jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Break time. Truck’s downstairs.”

Blowing out a quiet breath, Dean took the time to secure his equipment before ditching his safety gear, and following the crowd into the lift.

He grabbed a spot near the back of the cab, letting the random conversations of the others swirl and eddy around him. It had been a good morning – solid physical labor, without a lot of time or space to think. _Exactly what you need,_ he thought.

When he reached the break truck, Dean selected a bag of chips and a soda, then quickly found a spot on the ground with his back to the wall of the building. On some level he knew he should seek out the other members of his crew, try to get to know them – maybe make friends. Without the whine of the saw filling his ears, however, his brain started worrying again at what Tessa had told him a few short hours earlier.

Cryptic messages about caretakers aside, it was clear Death believed that things with Sam and Faith weren’t over yet. _I just wish I knew what the hell he expects me to do about it?_ Nothing Tessa had said indicated that Death thought there was a chance Sam or Faith had made it out of the Cage. _We stopped the epic fight, Michael and Lucifer went into the Cage, and he hasn’t asked for his damn ring back yet – what the hell else is he looking for from me?_

By the time Dean made it through the last of his chips, he'd decided to call Bobby. He’d resolved to keep contact with the older hunter to a minimum while he was settling into his new life, but Dean knew that if anyone had wind of something that directly involved him it was going to be Bobby Singer.

He tried not to think about the possibility that Bobby would already be hiding things from him as he slid his cell phone out of his jeans and dialed.

“Hey, Bobby.” Dean smiled in spite of himself, just hearing the other man’s voice. “Yeah – I had a sec – wanted to see how things were going out there.” The two of them talked for a few minutes about random, useless things before Dean finally found the words to say what was really on his mind.

“Listen, Bobby,” he said, scrubbing a hand across his suddenly aching eyes, “have you heard anything about Sam and Faith recently?”

_”Dean…”_

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed, cutting the other man off before the hunter could state the obvious. “Look – I’ve got a good reason for asking. Tessa…a reaper Sam and I know…paid me a visit this morning. Seems Death doesn’t think this whole thing is over.”

_”Did she say why?”_

There was a hesitation in Bobby’s voice that made Dean think for a fraction of a second that the other man might actually know something. _You’re imagining things._ “Of course not. She was Death’s messenger girl – nothing about the visit was straightforward.”

_”Dean, I haven’t heard anything – I swear.”_

Despite the fact that he’d known the odds were against it, Dean still felt his heart sink in his chest. The two of them talked for a few more minutes before he realized everyone around him was stirring. “Yeah – listen Bobby, I gotta get back to work.” Dean let Bobby quiz him for a few minutes about the job as he got to his feet and tossed his trash.

They finished the conversation promising to talk later in the week. Dean followed the crowd back onto the lift, feeling profoundly unsettled by the entire exchange.

  


“Please tell me you know there’s something wrong with him.”

Faith looked up to see Bobby standing on the porch above her. “You don’t know what we’ve been through,” she said. “It wasn’t a matter of days – I don’t even know how long we were in there.”

“So your answer is yes?”

Faith sighed. “My answer is that after what I saw those assholes do to him, I’d be surprised if there _wasn’t_ something wrong.”

The hunter was quiet for a moment. “I just got off the phone with Dean.”

Faith tensed. Part of her was actually hoping that Bobby had betrayed them – that Dean knew they were alive and was even now on his way to South Dakota. “Coincidence?” she asked instead.

Bobby rolled his eyes as he came down the steps to join her in the yard. “He said a reaper visited him – somebody he and Sam have run into before.”

Faith’s chest tightened. “He’s okay, right?” _I knew we couldn’t just leave him hanging out there._

“Yeah. Seems like it wasn’t a professional visit – Dean said she had a message for him from Death.”

Faith blinked, startled. “Death? _The_ Death?” Abruptly, memory of the ancient man who’d confronted her in the parking lot of the diner came rushing back. _No way._

Bobby caught her reaction. “What?” he demanded.

“This may have just got a whole lot more complicated,” Faith said, seriously considering the possibility that it had been Death himself who spoke to her. Sticking to the basic facts, she filled Bobby in on the details of her encounter.

Clearly as stunned by the implications as she was, Bobby leaned against the porch rail. “Not sure I’m okay with this,” he said at last.

“You?” Faith laughed. “How do you think I feel? I’m the one he’s taking a personal interest in!”

  


Sam watched Bobby and Faith through the window. He knew Bobby had been on the phone with Dean, but against all odds he’d kept their secret. _It’s for the best._ In spite of all the chaos of the previous week, Sam believed more than ever that they were doing the right thing by leaving Dean where he was.

_One of us deserves to be free._

He caught sight of his blurred, pale reflection in the window glass, and shifted his focus so that it was more clear. _What happened to me down there?_ Now that he had some time and space to think about it, the hole in his memory was starting to bother him. Sam knew he really didn’t like the idea that Faith had information about him that he didn’t. It was an exploitable weakness.

Aside from the amnesia, he felt great. Physically he saw no hint of the torture that he understood intellectually he had to have survived. Mentally he had all of his faculties – in fact, he was thinking more clearly than he ever remembered being able to.

The problem was his empathic responses to the people around him. The more he interacted with the people who knew him best, the harder it was to hide the fact that things had…changed. The situation with Dean was a prime example. Sam believed what he was saying, because it made good strategic sense. It was something he knew he should have felt hugely passionate about – particularly because he was arguing a point that robbed Faith of the one thing she wanted most.

Faith herself was developing into a completely different problem. Keeping her with him, using her to watch his back, made sense – but unlike with Dean, there was this dark surge of possessiveness overshadowing everything. And that didn’t make sense.

Sam was discovering that he didn’t like things that didn’t make sense.

 _She was born to the life,_ he thought. Faith would never have been happy settling down, turning away from the blood and the guts and the death. _And I care about her happiness._

He shuddered involuntarily, realizing the thought was phrased as though he was trying to convince himself of the truth of it.

And his brain wasn’t necessarily buying the argument.

  


 

**Chapter Four**

Two days later, a battered navy blue truck rolled to a stop in the front yard. The driver of the truck took off his sunglasses and surveyed the immediate area. He’d never stopped to consider what type of place the Bobby Singer he’d met years earlier would call home, but faced with the reality Eliot Spencer had to admit that it fit.

_”I’m in kind of a situation. The kind of situation that could put us square if you were willing to help out.”_

Eliot had been reaching for a duffel bag even before the phone call was finished. Singer hadn’t been forthcoming with the details, but Eliot sincerely doubted whatever the hunter was into it matched what he’d managed to save Eliot from.

He winced, remembering the feel of the claws ripping into his flesh – the gun report, followed by the explosion of blood and slime and thicker things. The scars snaking across his chest had faded, but were still a visible reminder of how close to death he’d come.

The air was cooler than he expected when he finally left the cab of the truck. Eliot kept his eyes and ears open - listening for trouble as he crossed the yard – but no sign of life greeted his senses.

His knock on the door was answered by an impossibly tall young man, with dark hair and dead, flat hazel eyes. “You Bobby’s friend?” he asked by way of greeting.

Immediately wary, Eliot nodded anyway. “Eliot Spencer.” There was something about the young man that set every instinct he had on edge – Eliot forcibly reminded himself that if the kid was in Bobby’s house, there had to be _something_ trustworthy about him.

“C’mon in,” he said, stepping back and gesturing Eliot into the house.

The door opened into the kitchen. Bobby was at the stove already, presiding over a chorus of hissing skillets. A dark-haired young woman was sitting at the table, wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee.

“Hungry?” Bobby asked. Eliot nodded, crossing to the table. “That’s Sam,” the hunter went on, indicating the young man who had answered the door. Eliot nodded at the kid, who nodded back. “And that’s Faith.”

Eliot took the chair across from Faith and extended a hand. “Eliot Spencer.”

She studied him for a long moment, her expression sullen and guarded. _Oh this is going to be fun,_ Eliot thought. After a moment, she took his hand and shook it twice.

“You better be everything Bobby says you are,” she said, before taking another sip of her coffee.

  


Faith said the words out loud, but it was nothing Sam hadn’t already been thinking. The man was obviously in shape – he carried himself like somebody who’d seen more than his share of fights. The problem was that they needed a whole lot more than a bruiser for this job, and Eliot Spencer was not the sort of person who gave a lot away in the first couple of minutes.

“Don’t know what Bobby’s been saying about me, so I really can’t answer that,” Spencer said calmly, leaning back slightly in his chair.

“Don’t mind her,” Bobby called from the stove. “We’re all on edge.” Without missing a beat, he threw a dish towel at Sam. “Get the man some coffee.”

Sam caught the towel and glanced at Eliot. “How do you take it?”

Eliot ignored him in favor of looking at Bobby. “Your coffee gotten any better since Oklahoma?”

The hunter rolled his eyes. “There’s not a damn thing wrong with my coffee!” he snapped. Grinning what looked like a truly genuine smile, Eliot looked back at Sam.

“Leave room for milk or whatever – I’ll take care of the rest. And thanks.”

Conversation stayed sparse until the food had been distributed. Sam watched and listened as Bobby and Eliot caught up on old news – shared companionship and experiences. It was enough to let him know that Bobby did trust Eliot and his abilities – as much as he trusted any hunter, and probably more than most. Eliot didn’t have a lot of practical experience dealing with the supernatural, but he had enough that if something unexpected came sniffing around Dean and his family he wasn’t likely to end up as cannon fodder.

By the time breakfast was winding to a close, Sam had to admit that while he didn’t necessarily like Spencer as a person, he was feeling better about him as a potential babysitter for Dean.

Bobby refilled the coffee all the way around, and then took his chair again – passing a folder across the table to Eliot. “Dean Winchester,” he said. “Used to be a hunter – he got out of the life. We want to make sure he can stay out.”

Spencer flipped idly through the papers. Sam had a reasonably good idea what Bobby would have included in a dossier on Dean – basic stats, photos, and some background information. “Mostly surveillance then?” Eliot asked, glancing up at Bobby. Sam noticed that he was treating Bobby as the de facto leader of their group; an attitude that seemed to go beyond his knowledge of Bobby as a person, and almost into something with military or paramilitary roots.

Sam couldn’t tell if Bobby was playing to it or not; the conversation stayed relatively casual on his end. “In a perfect world, that’s all you’ll end up doing,” he told Eliot. “We’re hoping things stay quiet, but he’s already had a visit from a reaper – couple days ago.”

Sam blinked, stunned by the revelation. He looked across the table at Faith, and was further disturbed to realize that she didn’t look surprised by Bobby’s news. _Interesting,_ he thought. Obviously the conversation he’d seen the two of them having earlier had been more involved than he thought.

“You looking for me to protect him?” Eliot asked, suddenly sounding doubtful. “Remember Bobby, I’ve never even seen a reaper, much less fought one.”

“We need somebody who can raise the alarm if something comes sniffing around,” Faith said. “Watch Dean’s back – make sure he’s not blindsided.”

“But not let him know,” Sam added. “Not if you can avoid it.”

Eliot flipped past a handful of pages in the folder, looking thoughtful. Finally he looked up at Bobby again. “How long?”

“We’ll help you get set up,” Bobby said. “Give you whatever intel you need to be able to do the job.” He paused. “I’m thinking three months of your time’ll put you and me square. If we need you beyond that, we’ll pay your going rate.”

Eliot immediately looked doubtful. “We’ll talk.”

“You don’t think three months is fair?” Bobby asked.

The younger man shot him a suddenly wicked grin. “I don’t think you know what my going rate is.”

  


Faith slipped away from the table shortly after it became obvious that Spencer was going to take their offer. He was asking all the right questions, and Bobby and Sam were filling him in on the essentials. They didn’t need her.

Dean would be safe. That was all she cared about.

Looking around, Faith finally sat down on the stairs leading to the ramshackle house’s upper level. She and Sam were sharing the bedroom the three of them had used in the past when staying over at Bobby’s. There was another bedroom she and Dean had used on those rare occasions they’d been looking for privacy – but even though things were still arguably tense between them, Faith was finding it difficult to be physically away from Sam for long.

 _So I guess that means I’m sticking around,_ she thought, looking into the kitchen at him. He’d already said straight up that he wanted to get back into hunting, and Faith knew he was looking to her to become his new partner.

 _Could do worse,_ she thought. Going back to her life as a Slayer would always be an option, but ever since she’d been in Sam and Dean’s world, Faith had chafed at the idea of going back to living in Buffy Summers’ shadow.

She realized with a start that the boys had finished talking, and Bobby’s friend was heading in her direction. Faith made no secret of studying him as he approached – and he made no secret of appreciating her scrutiny. He was short, compact, with that indefinable _something_ all the bad boys of her life seemed to possess sooner or later.

“Your husband’s pretty intense there,” he said, leaning against the bannister and looking down at her. “He ever lighten up?”

It took Faith a second to realize who he was talking about. “Sam’s not my husband.” Dean’s wedding ring was suddenly cold against her chest. She’d decided to keep wearing the band for the time being, but having it in the open and on her finger was proving to be too distracting and more than a little creepy. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

Eliot nodded. It looked to Faith as though he was considering what she said, balancing it against the evidence of his own eyes and ears. “So the guy you want me to watch..?” His voice trailed off. Faith nodded.

“Dean. Yeah.” She pulled on the chain around her neck until the circle of white-gold came into view above her tank top. “He’s the one belongs on the other end of this.”

Eliot studied it for a moment, and then his blue eyes ticked up to meet hers. “Must be a helluva guy,” he said, “because you don’t strike me as the kind of girl who wears a leash well.”

 _Really?_ Smirking, Faith let the ring drop, grabbed the bannister and hauled herself up. Standing on the bottom step, she was actually a hair taller than Eliot. “You better be everything Bobby says you are,” she repeated, cocking her head to one side and letting a few of her inner demons show in her eyes. “Because if you’re not, I’m going to track you down and choke you to death with this ‘leash’ as you so kindly put it.”

The grin slipped off her face. Faith saw the slight widening of Eliot's eyes, and knew he understood how serious her threat was. “So…Sam’s not the only one who’s a bit intense around here?”

Faith laughed. “Mr. Spencer, you have no idea.”

  


“You talked to Dean?” Sam asked Bobby, once Eliot was safely out of earshot.

Bobby refilled his coffee cup, and then glared at Sam. “This ain’t no restaurant, boy. Get busy with the dishes.”

Sam thought about refusing until Bobby answered his question, but the part of his brain that seemed to have taken on responsibility for reading the emotional undercurrents of a situation was able to realize that doing so would be unnecessarily provocative.

“He called the morning you and Faith showed up,” Bobby said, resuming his seat at the table while Sam started working. “By the time I had a chance to tell you it didn’t seem like it was worth making a fuss over.”

“The reaper,” Sam asked, “didn’t make any kind of threats?”

Bobby snorted. “Give me a little credit, Sam. He said she had a message – somebody you two had run into before?”

 _Tessa._ “If it’s a she, then yeah,” Sam said. “She’s not exactly friendly, but she’s definitely not a threat. What’d she say?”

Bobby was quiet for long enough that Sam stopped working on the dishes. “Bobby?” he prompted

The other man looked troubled. “She told Dean that Death doesn’t think things with you and Faith are settled. I’d about made up my mind to tell you, Sam – but then Eliot showed up, and it didn’t seem right to derail the whole discussion before…”

Sam’s mind was racing, turning this new information over and factoring it into his overall plans. “Bobby, what exactly did Dean say?”

Bobby shrugged. “Just wanted to know if I knew anything. Told him I didn’t.”

“Okay.” Sam exhaled softly – trying to ignore what it meant that he was relieved at Bobby’s answer. “We’ll stick to the plan. Death’s not real big on actively involving himself in things. As long as he doesn’t rile Dean up anymore, things should stay on course.”

He realized Bobby was watching him. “What?”

Bobby glanced over his shoulder. Eliot and Faith had finished their conversation and vanished – Sam hadn’t seen them leave. He braced himself when Bobby turned back – the hunter had that look that he got whenever he wanted to have a “serious” conversation. “Look, Sam,” he said – his tone immediately confirming what Sam suspected, “I know this is probably none of my business, but where exactly does Faith fit into all this madness?”

The question confused Sam at first. “She’s going to stay with me,” he said. “We talked about it – she agreed it’s for the best.”

“So you’re going to be living and working with your brother’s wife?”

 _Ah._ “Bobby,” he said, “Faith is a free agent. You know she and Dean don’t have a traditional arrangement when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“I know,” Bobby agreed. “It’s just that this whole thing seems a little…”

“Underhanded?” he asked. “Like I’m manipulating everything in order to have Faith all to myself?”

Put that boldly, Bobby actually looked embarrassed. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Kid, I just want to make sure there’s nothing…more basic going on here.”

“Trust me, Bobby. Having Faith all to myself is the last thing I’m thinking about right now.”

  


Her conscience was nagging at her to work out, but Faith was having a hard time getting motivated. She perched on the porch rail, dangling her feet over the side as she stared off into the distance.

This was really happening. She was turning her back on Dean and everything they meant to each other because it was in his best interest. _That’s gotta count for some serious redemption points,_ she thought, hanging her head and chuckling at herself.

Eliot could do the job they needed him to do. Now that she’d met the man and taken his measure, Faith felt a lot more secure about that part of things.

Memory of their conversation came back to her suddenly, stirring feelings she hadn’t dare entertain since leaving Kansas. Eliot had been obviously – blatantly – flirting with her, even though he’d quickly figured out she was married to one of the boys. It didn’t help that he was hot, confident, and pushed nearly every single one of her buttons.

 _He’s a professional._ That much had been obvious. He’d taken his time, listened to everything Sam and Bobby had to say on the subject of Dean, and then asked all the right questions. Even his flirting with her, now that Faith took the time to really think about it, had given him clues as to what kind of man Dean was.

“Hey.”

Faith didn’t pull away from the gentle hand Sam put on her shoulder, but she didn’t lean into his touch either. “Hey yourself.”

Sam turned – leaning against the porch rail next to her so that they could see each other. “That’s a lot of heavy thinking going on there.”

She hitched one shoulder negligently. “Lots to think about.”

He was quiet for a long moment; Faith could almost hear the wheels turning in his mind. “What were you and Spencer talking about before?”

 _So that’s it,_ she thought. Even the tentative note in his voice pissed her off. “He made a pass at me.”

“What?” Sam pushed back to his feet and took a step in the direction of the kitchen. “That sonofabitch…” Before he could do anything else, Faith had him by the arm – holding him back.

“Really?” she asked. Faith had been sensing a steadily growing undercurrent of possessiveness in Sam, reaching back to their first moments in the cemetery. His reaction to her comments confirmed her suspicions, and pissed her off.

Startled by her response, Sam raised both hands in surrender. “What? We can’t trust he’ll do his best protecting Dean if he’s thinking about hooking up with you.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Unless that’s what you’re angling for?”

Faith snorted, dropping her hold on his arm. “If Dean doesn’t have a say in who I fuck, you sure as hell don’t. Besides – it’s not like you suddenly give a shit, right?” The accusation was targeted – the pieces of Sam’s emotional puzzle were starting to come together in her mind, and Faith wasn’t liking what she saw one bit.

“What do you mean?” There was a flash of panic in his eyes under the bluster, and Faith knew she’d struck a nerve. “We can’t trust that he’s going to protect Dean if he gets it in his head that Dean’s an obstacle to you!”

“Either you trust Bobby or you don’t,” Faith countered. “Eliot can do the job.”

“You agreed with the plan,” Sam said, looking more uncertain than he had in days.

His hesitancy was enough to somewhat soften Faith's attitude towards him. Sam’s memory issues notwithstanding, there was no sure way of telling how his time downstairs had affected him. _“After what I saw those assholes do to him, I’d be surprised if there wasn’t something wrong.”_ The memory of what she’d said to Bobby came back to Faith, making her regret having treated him like he was the Sammy they all wanted him to be.

“I did,” she admitted finally. “I do. It’s just like Bobby said, you know? We’re all on edge.”

Sam hugged her to his chest, and even though the physical contact made her itch, Faith allowed it.

  


Eliot went for a walk after dinner. He’d survived the balance of the day without losing his temper, but by the time the last of Bobby’s cooking was being tucked away, he knew he needed a break. Tension in the house was thick enough to choke on. If it wasn’t for the fact that there were still some things Bobby needed to discuss with him, Eliot could have happily loaded up his gear and gotten as far away from the whole situation as possible.

Putting the lights of Sioux Falls at his back, he ambled towards the edge of Bobby’s property. It was a clear night, with just enough moon to transform the piles of scrap metal and dead cars into a strange alien landscape. Over his head arched a sky so thick with stars he was almost homesick. _Been working too much,_ he was forced to acknowledge. Since leaving the military, the majority of his jobs kept him in urban centers around the world. Skies like this couldn’t compete with the neon glow of human beings clustered so tightly together.

When he reached the fence line, Eliot found a car that looked like it was only a year or two dead and slid up on the trunk. He owed Singer – true – and he wouldn’t run out on that obligation, but he would have almost preferred dealing with the supernatural side of the problem. His responsibility was arguably the messier side of the equation, with a much greater potential for lasting damage all the way around.

Eliot sensed Faith coming towards him when she was a hundred yards or so away. _”That girl’s a piece of work,”_ Bobby had said during the few relatively private conversations they’d managed over the course of the day. _”Crazy like a rabid dog, and she’s got Sam and Dean wrapped around her…little finger.”_ Eliot had a pretty good idea what Bobby had originally been planning to say; subtlety wasn’t exactly Singer’s strong suit.

He’d gotten hints of the crazy for himself during their brief conversation on the stairs, but mostly Eliot saw a deep sadness in Faith. _Damaged._ If ever there was somebody who owned that word, it was this woman.

“This a private party?” She’d come up on his right, leaning on the edge of the trunk.

Eliot glanced down at her and half-shrugged. Faith took the gesture for consent, coming around the corner of the trunk and putting her back to him. Her shoulder rested easily against his right knee. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly, once she seemed settled.

Her shoulders twitched, in what Eliot assumed was meant to be a shrug. Without thinking about the gesture, he reached out and began combing his fingers lightly through the tangle of her dark hair. Some of the ever-present tension seemed to leave Faith’s body as he continued trying to soothe her. Eliot imagined he could feel her relaxing into him.

_”They’ve got some kind of…arrangement.”_

He wanted to ask, but Eliot could tell Faith needed the peace and quiet, more than she needed his questions. _How did you get here?_ he wondered. _What made you this way?_ His fingers hit a snarl in her hair, and he paused to gently tease the strands free.

Faith chuckled; it was a low, rough sound slipping through the calm. “I keep meaning to comb it after I shower, but…”

“S’alright,” he assured her. The last of the strands came free, and he smoothed them down as best he could. Faith sighed with quiet pleasure.

“That feels good.”

Eliot smiled. “Good.” He made his strokes more confident, occasionally straying from her hair to trace his fingertips across the back of her neck, and along the line of her shoulders. She began to move with his touch, falling into almost a light trance. Eliot was so pleased with the effect he was having on her, that it was several minutes before he realized he didn’t feel the light chain she’d been wearing around her neck earlier.

He hesitated; just a fraction of a second, but Faith laughed again. “Was wondering when you’d notice.”

His hand was still against her skin. “Why?”

Faith turned slowly, until they were facing each other. Eliot’s breath caught in his throat as he saw the sudden heat in her dark eyes. “I figured you for the type that would freak if I tried to seduce you wearing a wedding ring.”

Tightening his grip on the back of her neck, Eliot leaned down and kissed her as thoroughly as he could manage.

  


Faith twined her arms around Eliot’s neck, melting up into him. He was a really good kisser, and he seemed to get that she didn’t want hearts and flowers from him. _Not now._

“I don’t freak.” His voice was a low, rumbling growl as their lips parted – his breath hot against her skin. “Get that shirt off before I tear it off you.”

She thought for a second about calling his bluff, but she had few enough clothes right now as it was. And the dangerous level of heat in his eyes was exactly what she needed to see. Crossing her arms in front of her, Faith grabbed the hem of the tank top and stripped it over her head in one graceful movement. Her olive skin glowed in the starlight against the black fabric of her bra.

Eliot slid off the trunk of the car. “Very nice,” he said, pulling her in close. Pushing the sweep of her hair aside, he took his time tonguing the soft area of skin where her jaw curved into her earlobe. Moaning with pleasure, Faith writhed against him – hands lightly cupping the back of his head. After several long moments, he began kissing his way down the side of her neck.

After a few minutes, Faith felt a small, brief tug between her shoulder blades as Eliot unhooked her bra. He bit hard into the muscle of her shoulder as the fabric slipped forward; she cried out, tightening her grip and arching into him. Once his teeth were firmly set, Eliot took his time marking her…drawing blood to the surface, without ever breaking skin. His knee pushed between her thighs; Faith straddled him gratefully – she was already wet, and the sudden friction was like an electric shock to her already thrumming nervous system.

“You like that, huh?” he whispered, steadying her as she shook with the first stirrings of orgasm. “Come for me, Faith.” He pushed his fingers into her hair and tightened them into a fist – making her gasp and tipping her over the edge.

She would have collapsed against him as her body let go, pleasure flooding through her, but Eliot kept her head up – watching her intently as she came. Faith allowed it, luxuriating in the simplicity of how much he wanted her. No emotional connection, no responsibilities – just a bad boy wanting a bad girl to fuck.

“So hot,” he murmured as the tremors shivering through her began to taper off, and she began to settle back into herself. His appreciation of the show she’d given him was obvious in his voice, and the brush of his hard-on against her thigh. “You have no idea what I would do with you if we had the time.”

Somewhat in control of her body again, Faith leaned forward and kissed him. Eliot didn’t try to fight her for dominance – it was slow and hot, a sweet drag of tongues…a whisper of teeth, and a definite promise of _more._ “We have a few hours,” she breathed as their lips parted. “Show me everything you can.”


	2. Blood Makes Noise

**Chapter Five**

“Winchester!”

Giving the nail he’d been hitting one more solid strike, Dean turned to see that his foreman had come up behind him. “What’s up Pete?” Somebody Dean had never seen before was standing in Pete’s wake – close to his own age and build, with an open, friendly expression.

“This is Eliot Spencer,” Pete said, indicating the stranger. “Show him the ropes – have him help you finish up these handrails. I want you both on the roof by tomorrow helping those morons finish blocking.”

Before Dean could say a word, the older man had turned on his heel and walked away. Dean studied the newcomer appraisingly. His clothes were first day site appropriate, but his hard hat, boots and tools had obviously seen a decent amount of wear. “Dean Winchester,” he said finally, transferring the hammer he’d been holding to his off hand and extending his right for the stranger to shake.

The man had a firm grip, and there was a weight and intelligence in his blue eyes. “Eliot Spencer.” Dean realized immediately that this wasn’t somebody interested in drinking his paycheck.

“Might as well dive in,” he said with a shrug. “We’ve gotta check each set of rails on this floor, make sure nobody’s taken them down and forgot to put them back.” He put the expected emphasis on the word “forgot”, and was rewarded with a grin.

“Sounds good,” Spencer responded. The two of them fell immediately into an easy working rhythm; it was immediately clear to Dean that Eliot Spencer knew what he was doing, and was interested in making a good first impression.

By the time the break whistle blew, they were almost finished with the floor. _Only three more to go,_ Dean thought, taking off his safety glasses and glancing around at the milling crowd. “Come on,” he said to Eliot. “My treat.”

They made it downstairs and joined the line for the break truck. “Seriously,” Dean said, indicating that Eliot should choose whatever he wanted from the available selections.

When they each had food and drink, Dean led the way to the patch of ground that had become his usual break spot. “Looked good up there,” he said to Eliot once they were both settled. “How long you been swinging a hammer?”

The newcomer shrugged. “All my life,” he said. “My Daddy thought I needed to know my way around a tool box.” He grinned. “Taught me how to build a bird house when I was four.”

Away from the general noise of construction, Dean could detect a slight drawl in the man’s tone. “Texas?” he asked.

“Oklahoma,” Eliot said. “Close to the border though.” He paused. “Where’d you grow up?”

Dean couldn’t help the bitter chuckle that escaped him. “All over. Started out in Kansas though. Lawrence.”

Eliot nodded. “Heard of it. Weird little town.”

Dean laughed again. “You have no idea.”

  


He could see why they cared. Eliot was an expert in gaining the measure of a man in a very short amount of time, and he liked what he saw in Dean Winchester. Even though he’d obviously had military training, going as far back as Eliot’s carpentry experience, he didn’t carry himself like a soldier having trouble re-assimilating into normal society. He was operating from the base assumption that the people around him _weren’t_ a threat.

Eliot hadn’t expected that. Sam and Bobby had painted Dean as a fragile burn-out case who drank too much and who was probably having all kinds of trouble fitting in with normal people.

“You live around here?”

Eliot blinked, realizing a hair later than he should have that Dean had asked him a question. “Just moved into an apartment in town,” he said. “Over on Cherry – near Vine.”

Dean nodded. “I know the place. Family?” he asked.

Eliot shook his head, rolling with the questions and trying to sense any hidden agenda. “Just me,” he said, taking off his hard hat and wiping at the sweat that had already started to collect under the band. “I like keeping the baggage at a minimum. Means I can always go where the work is.”

He sensed that Dean’s answering smile carried a lot more history than a casual observer might first assume. “You realize that means I’ll have to feed you,” he said, “because you sound like a man that hasn’t had his required levels of barbeque and beer in a while.”

“It’s a date,” Eliot said, then paused. “If you’re sure.”

Dean nodded. “Next Saturday. I’d have you over sooner, but my girlfriend’s a vegetarian.” He said the word like it was something distasteful caught in his teeth. “You’d be helping me out – giving me and the kid an excuse to toss some steaks on the coals.”

“Sounds perfect,” Eliot said, giving Dean his friendliest grin. It was tempting to start thinking of this as a cakewalk assignment, but he’d been in the business far too long to start dropping his guard now.

 _Girlfriend, huh?_ he thought as they got to their feet and got ready to go back to work. He’d read all the intel Bobby had on Lisa Braeden and her son Ben, but Eliot had to admit he was curious to see for himself how the flesh and blood woman compared to the one Dean had left behind.

  


By the time she and Sam finished their second job together, Faith had decided to let him live. Demons had been preying on a nursing home in western Ohio. It had taken them a week to scope out the situation and work out a means to vanquish the group, but once they’d gotten into the meat of the case they finished with only two innocents dead on the ground. _All in all, not a bad bit of work._

Faith stretched under the sheets, luxuriating in the smell of fresh-brewed coffee filling her nostrils. Seeming to abandon his earlier, almost Neanderthal possessiveness, Sam was becoming a very quick study when it came to the best ways to keep her happy – especially on those mornings where violence was the only acceptable alternative to proper caffeination.

“Morning.” Her hair was pushed aside, and Sam kissed the skin where her neck sloped into her shoulder. Purring low in her throat, Faith shifted against the weight of him at her back. He was always careful not to cuddle unless invited – another point in his favor.

“We don’t have to get up, do we?” she asked. Sam’s left hand slid up over her hip, moving down between her thighs. He rolled into her, until he was spooning her back and she knew _exactly_ how he felt about the idea of them getting out of bed.

“Job’s done,” he murmured, sliding his index finger across her clit and making her gasp. “We don’t have to move until we feel like it.”

Giving into the idea of sex, even though they’d celebrated with a monster round of fucking the night before, Faith pressed her hips back against his hard-on, making Sam groan. He slid his middle finger inside her in response – his knuckles grazing the soft, sensitive skin and urging her legs further apart.

She let him finger her to a small, satisfying orgasm – happy with his desire to go slow this morning. Between the brothers Sam was definitely the more athletic lover, and the final fight with the demons hadn’t been physically easy on either of them.

As she shuddered and gasped in his arms, Faith felt Sam shift until the head of his cock was pressing up into her. She moved with him, until he was finally able to bury himself inside her – pressing her hard against his groin.

“That’s it,” he whispered, sliding halfway out before slamming back into her. The fingers of his right hand combed hard through the tangle of her hair, finally tightening into a fist. “Stay just…like…that…” Each word was punctuated with a hard, quick thrust. As he fucked her, his fingers played across her clit – winding her up into her next orgasm almost before she’d recovered from the first.

It didn’t take long before they were both sweaty and desperately grinding against each other – Sam unloading his come as Faith’s pussy tightened around his cock. “Yes…” Sam sighed against her skin. “God, yes… Just like that.”

  


They stayed in bed for another hour after that – Faith dozing, and Sam enjoying the feel of her in his arms. Finally she stirred, groaning, and he knew the spell was broken.

“Bathroom,” she growled, slipping out of his embrace and heading for the light showing around the partially open door. Sam waited until he heard the shower, then slid out of bed and started straightening up.

It was working. There were moments he couldn’t believe it, but they’d been on the road together for nearly a month, and the partnership was finally starting to find a groove. Without any sort of conscious decision on either of their parts, they’d each figured out the other’s quirks and needs, and between them were working out a mutually satisfying series of compromises.

Faith’s hunting style was more compatible with Sam’s than Dean’s had ever been. _Not true,_ his hind brain reminded him, speaking up for the first time in days. Sam tossed the jumble of bed sheets into the middle of the mattress and stopped to consider the unexpected observation.

His style of hunting had changed. It wasn’t that Dean had somehow been holding him back – Sam had always been a more timid hunter than his brother, unable to avoid thinking out the consequences of every strategy.

Now though? He remembered when Faith had gutted the young woman who had most recently been possessed by the demons they were hunting. She hadn’t flinched, and he hadn’t been horrified by her choice. It made sense – they’d seen the backgrounds on this particular group; the “initiations” they tended to put new members through. The odds of this particular victim surviving even one of Sam’s exorcisms were fairly small.

Faith’s bold, decisive action had set the tone for the rest of the attack, and the two of them had managed to dispatch the entire nest in very short order.

A sharp knock startled Sam from his reverie. Suddenly on guard, he swept up his gun and went to the door. “Who is it?”

“Friends!” called a voice through the cheap wood. “We need to talk.” Sam looked through the peephole and saw two men around his own age – dressed in black and both armed.

He glanced down at his own current state of undress. “Can you give us a sec?”

  


Faith leaned around the shower curtain when she heard the bathroom door open. Sam was there, holding her duffel. “Company,” he warned.

“Friendly?” she asked, reaching immediately to turn off the water. He shrugged.

“They haven’t started shooting yet. Be ready for anything though.”

 _Anything? Is he serious?_ In a less dire situation it would have been amusing how often Sam tended to forget that a Slayer’s definition of “anything” was somewhat…broader…than the average hunter’s.

Toweling off as best she could in the steamy bathroom, Faith rooted through her bag for a pair of clean sweats. Normally she would have gone for the leather – something to make a decisive impression – but practicality and speed won out.

Once she was dressed, Faith took a second to listen to what she could hear of the scene outside, while she finger-combed her hair and tied it back into a horsetail. _Sounds friendly enough,_ she thought, easing the door open. She wasn’t going to fault Sam for a healthy dose of paranoia, but unless he was playing a game she wasn’t clued into, it sounded to Faith like whoever had come knocking fell on the “friends” side of the “friend or foe” equation.

“Faith!” Sam greeted her when she stepped into the room. He was smiling, and it seemed as genuine as his smiles ever got these days. Faith backed slightly off full battle readiness when he came and took her arm to escort her over to the two strangers. “This is Christian and Mark Campbell. Guys, this is Faith – my…” He paused for a second, and Faith could see him struggle for a label to put to their relationship.

“Partner,” she said, extending her hand to the nearest man – the one identified as Mark. He shook it solemnly, and then Christian followed suit. _Campbell._ The name teased at something in her memory, and she glanced quizzically at Sam.

“They’re my cousins,” he said. “On my mother’s side.”

“Okay,” Faith said – the light finally dawning. “Dean did tell me about your mother’s people.”

Christian glanced pointedly around the tiny hotel room. “Where is Dean? Samuel said the two of you work together, Sam.”

In that moment, Faith realized she didn’t like the skinnier of the two interlopers. There was something about Christian’s manner that just set her teeth on edge. “Dean’s out,” she said before Sam could say anything. “Retired.”

Sam hadn’t registered anything Christian said about his brother – a fact that became obvious a moment later, when he asked. “Samuel? You can’t mean…”

The two Campbells exchanged amused glances. “Yeah – the big man himself. He sent us to collect you.”

  


**Chapter Six**

Something was wrong. Dean couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but finally realized halfway through cleaning off the barbeque grille that he was actively missing his gun. The weapon had been unloaded and stored for months now, and standing in the middle of a suburban backyard on one of the most beautiful days late summer had managed to produce so far, he felt its absence more keenly than he could ever recall.

“What time did Eliot say he was going to be here?”

Dean started, realizing belatedly that Lisa was standing a few feet away. “What? Oh. I told him about one. The game starts at four – I figure that’s enough time to eat ourselves into a comfortable coma.” He went back to scrubbing the grille, but Lisa didn’t return to whatever she’d been doing in the kitchen.

“Dean, are you all right?” she asked finally, when it was clear he wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence.

He set down the brush with a small sigh. _Not for a long time now,_ he thought, but he couldn’t say it out loud. Dean knew he couldn’t hurt her like that. “I’m fine babe – just slept wrong last night.”

She smiled, closing the distance between them. “I’m not surprised you’re tired,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss him. “That was some dream you had around two this morning.”

In spite of himself, Dean felt his face grow hot. It _had_ been a very intense dream, that had led to some very intense middle-of-the-night sex. Under ordinary circumstances that wouldn’t have been a problem, and clearly Lisa wasn’t complaining – but he’d been on the verge of coming before he’d woken up enough to realize she was the one moving beneath him.

Not Faith.

“Too bad you don’t have time to take a nap,” Lisa said, dragging Dean back to the present.

He smiled and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’ll be fine. Do you have Ben doing anything important?” When she shook her head he said, “Send him out here. Might as well teach him how to get a decent fire going.”

  


Eliot paced the confines of his small, sparsely furnished apartment, talking on the phone with Bobby. “About one. Standard suburban barbeque – we’re watching the game later this afternoon.” He glanced at the objects laid out on his coffee table. “Yeah – I’ve got everything.”

Still listening to the hunter, Eliot picked up a silver ring set with coral and turquoise and slid it onto his left hand. He winced slightly, feeling a small tingling of nerves as the metal came in contact with his skin. _Gotta be imagining it._ A little susceptibility to suggestion was bound to happen, the more time he spent around these people.

He paused suddenly, realizing Bobby had asked him a question. “Based on what little I’ve seen so far, fine. None of the warning signs you’d expect.” Eliot paused, thinking over the couple of days he’d spent in Dean’s company again. “I need to see how he’s got things set up at home. That'll give us a better picture.”

They talked for a few more minutes, then Eliot said his goodbyes and slid the phone into his pocket. He’d wanted to ask about Sam and Faith, but Bobby hadn’t left him any sort of a conversational opening.

 _Okay, be honest,_ he told himself as he fastened the silver chain around his neck and slipped the amulet under his shirt, _you wanted to ask about Faith._ He hadn’t spent a lot of time with Dean’s brother, but Eliot had already concluded that Sam was pretty much of a dick.

As far as Dean was concerned, Eliot was confident in his assessment that today would tell the real story. Dean’s military training – even though it was second hand – dictated that his home base would have the strongest evidence of defensive measures and latent paranoia. Bobby had given him a list of things to look for, and some of the items Eliot had on his person now were supposed to be able to show him things not visible to the naked eye.

All in all, he felt as prepared as he could possibly be under the circumstances.

  


It was like nothing Sam could have imagined. The outside of the deserted warehouse certainly fit the profile – it looked like an abandoned movie set from nearly every horror movie ever made.

Inside was a full-scale paramilitary operation. Men and women were spread out across the central room of the building – some working on weapons maintenance, groups working on spell and charm preparation, and yet another group being led in hand-to-hand combat training exercises. It was organized, efficient, and completely overwhelming.

Christian slapped him companionably on the back as they walked. “Welcome home, Sam.” When Sam managed to tear his stunned gaze away from their surroundings, he saw that Christian was smiling an impossibly wide grin. “Everybody’s excited about you joining up.”

Sam glanced back at Faith, realizing that somehow during their walk from the cars, he, Christian and Mark had drawn together – and away from her. Sam started to motion to her to join them, but Faith’s emotional walls were up and locked; she was studying everything around them, but gave no indication what she thought about the set-up. _We’ll talk later,_ Sam reassured himself; assuming they were able to find time for themselves.

“Sam!”

A tall, powerfully built man was standing on the metal staircase leading to a supervisor’s office overhead. Sam recognized him immediately; after Dean’s first trip to the past, they’d gone through their small stash of family photos together. Dean had pointed out Samuel and Deanna Campbell for Sam, and filled him in on what he’d learned about their family history.

Sam knew immediately that their first problem was the man walking down to meet their group _couldn’t_ be Samuel Campbell. Even if they ignored the fact that Dean had personally witnessed the man’s death in 1973, this Samuel didn’t appear to be a day older than the faded photos in the trunk of the Impala.

His own doubts and questions aside, Sam nevertheless let himself be drawn into a hug. “Good to see you, son,” Samuel murmured before letting him go.

His grandfather’s attention shifted immediately to Faith. “And you’re Dean’s wife – the vampire slayer. Glad to meet you.”

Any potential problems with having Faith’s identity busted so openly paled in comparison to the fact that her involvement with Sam and Dean was knowledge Samuel should not have had in the first place. Almost as if he’d read his grandson’s thoughts, Samuel slung a friendly arm around his shoulder. “You’ve got questions. It’s understandable. Why don’t you and Faith come on up to my office and I’ll see if I can’t put your minds at ease.”

  


Faith _really_ didn’t want to be following Sam and his grandfather upstairs. She _wanted_ to grab Sam by the scruff of the neck and drag him bodily out of this place.

Unfortunately for her suspicions, Sam was showing no inclination whatsoever to leave. Faith prayed that he was at least thinking along the same lines she was about the whole set-up. 

_You’re not possible,_ she thought, glaring daggers at Samuel’s back as she followed the two men upstairs. Faith knew the story almost as well as Sam did, and the only way Grandpa Campbell could be walking, talking and not a single day older was the sort of divine or demonic intervention she wasn’t sure they needed to be around right now.

Samuel’s office walls were papered with the expected hunter's collage of charts, graphs and newspaper clippings. A pile of ancient looking tomes were stacked on one table, while another table was loaded down with an assortment of computer equipment that might – with luck – one day be a working machine.

“Have a seat,” Samuel said, gesturing them to the two chairs in front of his desk, while he took the more ornate chair sitting behind it for himself. “All right,” he said once they were settled, spreading his hands in a gesture of invitation, “fire away.”

“What are you?” Sam asked. Faith blinked, startled. It was the sort of blunt, cutting through the bullshit question she or Dean would have been more likely to ask. Under the circumstances, she approved.

Samuel leaned back in his chair, studying them both for a long moment before responding. “I’m as human as either of you.”

Faith snorted – she couldn’t help it. Glancing at her, Sam told his grandfather, “You realize that’s not exactly reassuring, don’t you?”

“Okay,” Samuel acknowledged, “you have a point. All I can reasonably tell you two is that a couple months ago I woke up. Simple as that.” He paused, looking at Sam. “Best we can figure, whatever force pulled me out of heaven pulled the two of you up out of the pit.”

 _I’m not buying that he was partying with St. Peter,_ Faith thought, but she kept quiet. No point in starting fights before she had to – especially with Sam’s closest living relative besides Dean.

“Any idea who was responsible?” Sam asked.

His grandfather shrugged. “We were hoping the two of you might have more of an idea.”

“How did you even know to look for us?” Faith asked. Something about what he was saying bothered her. “I mean, I can see you wanting to track down Sam and Dean as soon as you were back among the living, but you’re talking like you already knew Dean was out of the picture.”

Samuel studied her for a long moment, saying nothing. Finally he said, “You remind me a lot of my daughter.”

“Creepy,” Faith said, without missing a beat, “but it doesn’t answer my question.” Sam shot her a pleading look that Faith deftly ignored. Somebody had to be the skeptical one in this situation, and Sam was obviously already too in love with the idea of the perfect hunter family to take on the role.

“I’ve been doing this a long time, young lady,” Samuel said. He was clearly annoyed now, and trying not to show it. “And with everything that’s happened recently, finding information on two hunters named Winchester isn’t hard.”

  


Lisa – Dean’s girlfriend – met Eliot at the front door. He was immediately escorted to the backyard, where Dean was holding court with a gangly teenaged boy who was introduced as Ben.

“You got this, champ?” Dean asked, once Ben and Eliot had shaken hands. Ben nodded, his eyes practically shining with a desire to prove himself.

 _”Seems like the boy’s already got a major case of hero worship going.”_ Bobby’s blunt assessment of the kid came back to Eliot as he accepted a cold beer from Dean with a nod of thanks. 

“Find the place okay?” Dean asked, as they took seats nearby.

Eliot nodded. “Your directions were fine.” The two of them fell immediately into an easy run of conversation – work, Eliot’s apartment, his family, Dean’s family. While they talked, Eliot took in the scenery around them. Bobby had given him a list of things to look for – signs that Dean wasn’t leaving himself or his family exposed. On his first glance, Eliot was reasonably sure he spotted three different items off that list.

They’d each worked their way through a second beer when Lisa joined them. Talk had turned to cars, and she suggested with a studied casualness Dean take Eliot into the garage to see his “baby”. Dean sobered immediately – a fact that wasn’t lost on Eliot. “We should probably see how Ben’s doing with the food,” Eliot said, trying to deflect the conversation into a more comfortable area.

Dean shook his head, obviously grasping for the tattered remains of his previous good humor. “Nah, it’s good,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and going over to check on Ben. Eliot watched the two of them speaking together in low tones – impressed at how comfortable Dean was with the boy.

“He looks like he’s not okay with this idea,” Eliot said to Lisa, once Dean was out of earshot.

Her earlier confidence evaporating, Lisa looked troubled. “He lost his brother a couple months ago,” she admitted. “The two of them were very close. The car is a huge reminder for Dean of what happened.”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out Eliot was the first person Dean had been comfortable enough to invite home for any kind of social occasion. _She’s really worried about him._ It hinted at issues more in line with what he'd first expected to find.

Dean returned before he could push things with Lisa. “Ready?” he asked. When Eliot nodded, the two of them headed off to the garage.

“Sorry for the tension,” Dean said off-handedly, once they were a comfortable distance away. “It’s just…”

Eliot gripped his shoulder reassuringly. “I came for the barbeque and the beer, man. If you’re not okay showing me your car, I’m not gonna hold it against you.” He grinned. “We can hang out for a few minutes and lie to your girlfriend if that’s what you want.”

He was seeing the first glimpses of everything Dean had lost, and Eliot was suddenly not as secure about his assessment of the situation as he’d been a few minutes earlier.

  


_Dammit Lisa!_ Dean knew he should have expected the subject of the Impala to come up. She’d been so excited when he’d invited Eliot over – Dean knew she thought it was a sign that he was ready to start embracing his normal life.

The thing that had him most rattled was that once Eliot offered him a diplomatic way out of the whole sticky situation, Dean realized he wanted to show the man his car. Eliot seemed to be exactly the kind of person who would appreciate the vintage automobile – even though it had lain dormant for months now.

Dean entered the garage first, gesturing for Eliot to wait at the door while he flipped on the light and deactivated the physical security system. This was where the majority of his past life lived – not just the Impala – and it was protected by all the mundane and magical means at his disposal. “Welcome to the inner sanctum,” he said, turning to gesture his friend in.

He froze at the sight that greeted him. 

Eliot was still standing on the other side of the doorway; Dean almost missed the unguarded flash of frustration in his eyes. “Sonofabitch,” he muttered, his own eyes narrowing. The last thing either of them expected was that good ol’ boy Eliot would come up against Dean’s magical protections and _lose._

“You’ve got two choices,” Dean said, walking slowly in the direction of his gun safe. “You can start talking, and explain to me why my wards won’t let you in, or you can get in your truck and drive away.”

Eliot studied him for a long moment. When Dean’s hand was on the door of the safe, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “All right.”

Turning so that his back was against the door, Dean folded his arms across his chest. “I’m waiting.”

Sighing heavily, Eliot took a silver ring off his left hand. “My uncle’s Navajo. He gave me this,” he held up the ring for Dean’s inspection, “and a necklace.”

Dean thought for half a second about going for his gun, knowing that everything he’d thought was possible in his new life would be over if he did. The paranoia bred into him from his childhood was screaming at him that somebody like Eliot having magic on him was too convenient to let slide.

Looking into the other man's eyes, Dean realized that he needed to believe Eliot was trustworthy. “Back up five paces,” he said, walking towards the door again.

Eliot did exactly as he was told, making sure he never left Dean’s line of sight. Once Dean crossed the threshold, he gestured for Eliot to throw him the ring. Spencer did so immediately, without any hesitation.

Dean turned it over, inspecting it. _Definitely some kind of Native American work,_ he thought, wishing for the first time in a long time that Bobby or Sam were here to watch his back. “You knew it was blessed?” he asked, looking up at Eliot again.

The other man shrugged. “Pop babbled something about protection spells because I’m on the road so much, but I never thought about it.”

Dean considered the explanation, and decided that it made sense. “You’ll have to leave the jewelry outside,” he said. “Then you should be able to come in.”

  


**Chapter Seven**

It was a vampire nest. Once he saw the intel, Sam knew that he and Faith could have handled the entire set-up on their own. It should have been the perfect test run to see how they fit with the Campbells’ style of hunting.

Instead, he and Faith were surrounded by hunters now – his family – who looked considerably less than pleased with their performance. Faith was already toe to toe with one of the women. “It’s a vampire,” she snarled, in response to Gail’s angry query of _”what the hell did you think you were doing?”_ “I’m a vampire slayer.”

Sam elbowed her, in a none-too-gentle attempt to get her to shut up. He was still trying – and failing – to figure out exactly where and how things had gone so horribly wrong. It had made sense that Samuel would want them to guard the perimeter of the nest; they were the newcomers, and most likely to disrupt the overall working dynamic of the group.

What didn’t make any sense at all was the group’s apparently belief that they should have let the rogue vampire that broke in their direction get away.

Samuel strode up just as it appeared Faith and Gail were going to come to blows. “All right,” he shouted, “let’s break it up, people. I know every single one of you has something more important to do.”

It was an interesting glimpse into the power Samuel wielded. Faith and Gail continued to glare at each other, even though the latter was dutifully backing away. The rest of the crowd dispersed without a murmur of protest – each of the Campbells going back to their appointed tasks.

When Gail was far enough away, Faith whirled and shoved Sam hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. “You’re not my protector,” she growled. “Don’t _ever_ try and speak for me again.” Before Sam could say anything in his own defense, she stalked off.

Sam exhaled sharply, glancing at his grandfather. “She still remind you of mom?”

A small smile twisted the corners of Samuel’s mouth. “More than ever.” He paused. “And that’s not necessarily a good thing when it comes to hunting.”

“You know it was a mistake to keep her out of the fight,” Sam continued, still feeling the need to defend Faith’s actions. “Especially against a vampire nest.”

Samuel was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Tell Faith you’re going to ride back to base with me.”

  


Wrong. It was all wrong and Faith didn’t know why. When Sam caught up with her and delivered the message that he was going to ride back to base with his grandfather, she was sorely tempted to take the Charger and make a run for it.

 _You can’t do that,_ she reminded herself. _You can’t trust these people to protect him._

Christian was waiting for her when she reached the top of the hill. “Thought I’d give you a hand,” he said, bending down and picking up the stake she’d dropped.

Faith wanted to scream at him to go away – to leave her alone – but he was Sam’s cousin. Even though it went against every single one of her instincts to be nice to the man, she owed it to Sam to try and get along. “Thanks,” she said, crouching so she could more easily reach their scattered gear.

“I told Samuel we should have briefed you guys,” Christian said after they’d spent a few minutes working. “It’s not fair to blame you for screwing up when you didn’t know the mission parameters in the first place.”

Faith glared up at him. “I didn’t ‘screw up’. He was a vampire – I dusted him.”

“Hey – I’m on your side!” Christian smiled what Faith suspected he thought was a charming grin. “You’re a vampire slayer – you were just doing what came naturally.”

 _He’s trying to be nice._ “Thanks,” she said, pushing to her feet and shouldering the gear bag. “So what’s the deal?” she went on. “You guys working for the government or something?”

Christian laughed, and then paused. “You’re serious?”

Memories of the Initiative and Twilight uppermost in her thoughts, Faith shrugged. “Are you?”

“Absolutely not!” The idea clearly amused him; Christian laughed and shook his head.

“Hey,” he said, as they started down the hill, “did Sam leave you the car? I heard he was riding back with Samuel.”

Faith nodded, her stomach tightening as she sensed where the conversation was heading. When she didn’t immediately offer, Christian asked, “Mind if I ride with you?”

It was lame. It was transparent. Faith wanted nothing more than to tell the guy to take a hike, but she couldn’t think of any logical reason for her to feel the way she did. “Sure,” she conceded. “Come on.”

  


It was nearly dawn when Sam finally returned to the room he’d been sharing with Faith. His brain ached with all the information Samuel had entrusted to him.

The Campbell operation was huge – much bigger than he or Faith had originally imagined. And the implications of what Samuel was trying to do…it represented a real shot at humans gaining control of the monster situation at a time when the monsters themselves no longer seemed to be playing by the rules.

 _“Do you think Faith will be able to adjust her thinking?”_ It was the question his grandfather had left him with, and it was the question Sam couldn’t answer. He was also fairly certain he’d picked up subtext that indicated if Faith _couldn’t_ adapt, Sam would need to be prepared to make a choice.

She was still awake when he pushed open the door. “Good bonding session?”

He sighed, closing the door behind him. “He gave me a lot to think about. They’re trying to do something pretty major here.”

“I know. Christian told me.”

That surprised him. He’d thought Faith would have sooner spit on his Campbell cousin than hold a conversation with him. “Samuel’s worried you won’t be able to play along. That you’re too focused on killing the monsters to be able to work on containing them.”

Faith snorted. “I am absolutely adaptable, Sam. Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it – up to and including letting one of these idiots get their heads taken off if one of Samuel’s little exercises goes wrong.” She sobered, meeting his eyes, and Sam felt his stomach twist. “I just need to know what you would have said if I’d told you no – I’m not on board.”

Sam blew out a quiet breath. “Faith, I don’t know. The things Samuel told me – they make a sort of sense. It’s certainly nothing I’ve ever considered before. I’m not ready to walk away just yet.”

She was quiet for a long moment, obviously rolling what he’d said over in her mind. “Okay,” she said finally. “I guess that answers my question.”

  


Since they were at an impass, Sam finally suggested they get some sleep. “I’m still too juiced,” Faith said, heading for the door before he could muster any sort of protest. “Gonna take a quick walk, maybe hit something that won’t hit back.”

Once she was safely outside, the shudder of revulsion she’d been holding back shivered through her. Tonight, after everything that happened, the thought of lying in Sam’s arms – imagining the feel of him pressed up against her – made Faith’s skin crawl. _He’s changing._ She’d tried to ignore the signs. The closeness had been nice at first, but what had started out as comfort and support was rapidly turning into something she wanted to get away from.

 _Dean…_ She’d tried so hard to pretend it was all for the best, that she and Sam could manage just fine, but it was a lie. Without Dean they were crippled. _Incomplete._

“You need to be smarter than this, Faith.”

She’d wandered onto the main floor of the warehouse. None of Samuel’s crew was visible; Faith assumed with the big important vampire hunt having just happened, only the expected sentries would be awake.

The old man from the diner parking lot was standing in a splash of moonlight streaming in from a broken window. _Death…_ Faith forced herself to continue crossing the concrete floor, until she was standing within easy reach of him. “Walk with me,” he told her.

Death turned, and Faith fell immediately into step on his right. “I’m assuming this isn’t a social call,” she quipped, trying to fight her panicked nerves with a touch of attitude.

“How does your head feel?” Faith glanced at the wizened figure; Death was looking at her with an expression that was almost…kind.

Now that the question had been asked, Faith realized that her head felt thick and achy. _Almost like I’ve got a cold._ “It’s nothing,” she said, waving aside his concern. “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t the right answer. “Your love for these boys is making you slow, Faith. _I asked you a question._ ” The increased intensity of his voice made her flinch.

“I’ve got a headache, okay?” she snapped – adrenaline making her reckless. “I’m tired, these people all suck, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Better.”

Surprised by his reaction, Faith could have sworn the old man looked _pleased_ with her. A moment later, she realized that her head _did_ feel better after her outburst. _Lighter…_ “Okay, Gramps,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “what’s really going on here? You wanted me to stay with Sam. You didn’t want me to give up on my marriage to Dean. You said there would be consequences if I didn't.” Faith gestured around them. “From where I sit, there’s nothing but consequences here.”

“Because you are not acting,” Death said. “You are letting events happen to you, instead of taking steps to affect them. You are a Slayer, and unique among your kind. Destiny’s spoiler, Faith – _that_ is your role here. Fate did not intend you to be some sort of security blanket for the young Winchester boy.”

Faith considered his words carefully. She liked what he was saying, but if this was such a cosmically charged situation, why were they trusting her to make it spin right? She decided to risk saying as much. “What if I act, and I make things worse?” Her chest tightened against old pain. “There are a thousand Slayers out there now, who could do this better than me.”

“You set these events in motion.” Death rested an ancient hand on her shoulder. Faith was surprised to find his touch made her feel better – more sure of herself. “You are the key to bringing them to a close. No one can do this work better than you.”

  


  


“Knock, knock.”

Dean glanced behind him, managing a half-hearted smile. “Hey.” He gestured back at the house. “How is he?”

Lisa came out on to the porch, cautiously closing the distance between them. “Handling it a lot better than you are, honestly. Dean, what happened?”

 _What happened?_ That was the question, wasn’t it? One moment he and Ben had been working on the truck, the next he was pulling back a bloody fist. The driver’s side door now bore a perfect imprint of his knuckles. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “Everything was fine. I was teaching Ben how to rebuild the carburetor. After that…”

_It had been a perfect afternoon – one of the last they would share before everything literally went to hell. The Impala had been complaining, and even though they were nowhere near a proper shop, Dean was pretty sure he could handle whatever his baby needed from him._

_Cooler…beer…Sam watching him work… It had been a scene played between the two of them more times than Dean could remember with any certainty, and yet this time he’d felt the weight of his deal pressing down. On impulse, he’d gotten Sam on his feet and looking with him under the hood._

_“This is your intake manifold,” he said, pointing out the particular device. “And on top of it?”_

_Sam’s smile had been wistful – no doubt remembering all the times he’d watched John give Dean similar lessons, and all the times he’d pestered Dean to show him what he knew. “It’s…uh…a carburetor?”_

_Dean nodded. “Carburetor…very good.” He’d been holding out the socket wrench for Sam to take when Sam turned to ask him what was going on._

_“You don’t mean…you want…”_

_He’d felt so secure in himself and their relationship when he said, “Yeah, I do. You fix it.” The look on Sam’s face as he went to work under Dean’s supervision was something he knew would be with him until the day he died for good._

“That’s my job,” he whispered – the likely reason for his earlier outburst with Ben now painfully clear. _PTSD. Fuck._

“This is about Sam, isn’t it?” Lisa reached out and gently twisted the glass of Scotch out of his hand. Dean let her take it – he felt bad enough about scaring Ben earlier. He didn’t need to give Lisa any more reason to worry about their situation. _Especially if I’m going to start dealing with flashbacks on top of everything else._

“I think so. I don’t know.” Dean shrugged, feeling helpless and miserable. “What should I do?”

Lisa grimaced. “Don’t worry about Ben right now. I told you – he’s dealing. I’m more worried about you.”

Dean turned back to look out across the back yard again. “I feel like it’s all coming apart,” he admitted finally, leaning into Lisa’s shoulder. “Out of nowhere, I’m thinking about him all the time.”

She was quiet for a long moment. “You think it might be because of Eliot?”

Startled, Dean glanced at her. “What? Why do you say that?”

Lisa slipped an arm around his waist, and leaned more heavily into him. “Eliot is the first person you’ve opened up to since Sam died, Dean. You’re making a friend, and you feel guilty about it.”

He wanted to laugh it off, but her words hit much too close to home. He _was_ starting to open up to Eliot. Finding out that Spencer had a close family member who already believed in the supernatural had only helped the process along. Recently Dean had started broaching the subject of his own past; nothing too dark or too crazy, but more than he’d ever thought to be able to share with anyone again.

It had helped. Talking had helped. And Dean hated himself for the fact that everything Lisa said was true.

  


Eliot hung up the phone and sat, staring blankly into space.

 _We’re about three weeks from substantial completion at work. It’ll be a good time for me to pull out._ Bobby had brought up the subject of payment again, and Eliot had waved him off. The job had gone much longer than he’d originally agreed to, but his paycheck from the company was large enough to cover his expenses. As long as he didn’t take too big a hit to his savings, he didn’t feel right about taking Bobby’s money.

 _You’re starting to care._ Somewhere along the way Dean had become more than a job to him. Eliot wasn’t sure how or why it had happened, but he knew all too well what it meant. 

He had to start thinking about getting out.

Putting an end date on things with Bobby had helped quiet some of his internal upheaval, but Eliot was still shaken by the realization of how far under his skin Dean had really gotten. _It wasn’t supposed to go like this._ A three month cakewalk – get in, verify the man was safe and as sane as could be hoped for under the circumstances, and get gone.

 _You slept with his wife, for Christ’s sake!_ Worse than that – Eliot felt guilty about it, which told him perfectly just how in over his head he really was.

“He’ll be okay,” Eliot muttered, getting up and heading into the kitchen for a beer. Dean was healing – that was an undeniable fact. He was healing and he was taking all reasonable precautions to keep himself and his family safe.

“He’ll be fine.”

  


**Chapter Eight**

Their second attempt to combine forces with the Campbells went almost as badly as the first. The monster they’d been trying to contain had slipped away from them, wounding three of Sam’s distant cousins in the process. Once again, everybody seemed determine to take out their frustrations on Faith, although Sam arguably carried the most responsibility for the communication breakdown in their sector.

 _”Any moron with a weapon can kill the stupid things.”_ Faith didn’t recognize the cousin who’d said it, but the observation froze her in her tracks. _”They’re just animals.”_

“Faith?” She flinched when Sam touched her shoulder, unable to take her eyes off the man who’d made such a blunt assessment of her situation.

“Faith, look at me…please?” When she didn’t react, Sam deliberately put himself in her line of sight. “You can’t let them get to you.”

 _Too late,_ she thought. Out loud, though, she made herself say, “Can I have the keys?”

Sam looked doubtful, but reached in his pocket anyway and passed them to her. “You want to drive?”

Faith could feel herself starting to detach. The keys in her hand suddenly didn’t seem real. “I need you to catch a ride,” she said, forcing herself to look directly into Sam’s eyes.

Whatever had changed in Sam Winchester, he still knew enough to be frightened of what he saw in her expression. “Why?” he asked. The tone of his voice was suddenly very cautious; a fact that pleased Faith on an extremely deep level.

“If I don’t get to kill something tonight,” she said pleasantly, maintaining eye contact with him, “I’ll kill something. You understand me, right?”

He did. “I’ll see if I can catch up with Christian.”

Faith was in the woods well before the last car pulled out of the area, tracking the monster they’d lost. Armed with only her knife, she ran it to ground just as the first hints of dawn were in the sky and left it bleeding out in the dirt. As she hiked back to the Charger, covered in blood and other things, Faith realized she felt better – more sure of herself.

She needed the kill. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but killing monsters was too much a part of who she was. Faith mulled over the situation as she drove back to base; by the time she arrived, she was reasonably certain she’d figured out the problem. The constant tease of Samuel’s “contain and study” mission was starting to break down some very important safeguards in her head.

Sam agreed with her conclusions and her plan for getting around the problem, but insisted that before she do anything they talk to Samuel.

Faith had been braced for an argument from the Campbell patriarch. She was surprised and relieved, then, when he listened to her lay out the situation without interrupting her – saying finally, “I think you’re absolutely right.”

“We don’t need every monster out there for the program,” he went on when they both stared at him. “After a while the data just gets redundant. So as long as you’re willing to coordinate your patrols with me, Faith, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be able to kill a few of them on your own time.”

The idea of still being answerable to Samuel rankled Faith, but she recognized that it was a better compromise than she’d expected to get, under the circumstances. And she managed enough kills over the course of a few weeks, that when Samuel started prepping everyone for the third mission since she and Sam had joined the clan, Faith found she was better able to work with the group.

It was also during these few weeks of her new schedule that Faith figured out Sam hadn’t been sleeping. “Not since we got back,” he confessed when she finally confronted him with her realization.

Faith had an admittedly limited understanding of human physiology – beyond what was needed to take it apart – but even she realized the implications of that statement weren’t good. In an attempt to help, she started encouraging Sam to join her in bed again. She even submitted to him holding her, after he said it made him feel more like himself.

She also continued to let him fuck her, mostly because it was too much trouble to explain why she didn’t want to – but also because she still had needs of her own, and none of the cousins were attractive enough to pass up a talented lover who didn’t have to be taught what she liked.

Even if she was having trouble these days liking _him._

The problem with her decision was that it seemed to suddenly put her on the sexual radar of every single one of the male cousins over the age of eighteen. Once she realized what was happening, Faith knew she should have expected it. They knew her as Dean’s wife, and now they knew she was sleeping with Sam. Factor in her limited success at fitting in better with the group at large, and more than a few of the cousins seemed to have decided she was fair game.

Someone who definitely had her scent was Christian. After a month or two it seemed like every time Faith turned around he was there – making absolutely no secret of his interest. ”He doesn’t understand,” Sam said when she finally mentioned the problem to him. “Although if you wanted to, I really don’t think Arlene would mind.”

Faith personally thought that Christian’s wife Arlene would _certainly_ mind if Faith fucked her husband, but she was also just as certain that no one outside the woman’s immediate couple of friends would ever hear about her displeasure.

Still trying to get along, Faith adopted the strategy of simply staying away from Christian as much as possible. This worked until a raid in late March. Sam was the unfortunate person tasked with explaining to her that she’d been assigned to work with Christian on flushing out their quarry.

“I tried to talk to Samuel,” Sam insisted – giving a pretty good run at sincerity, in Faith’s opinion. “I couldn’t get him to budge. I’m sorry.”

Faith sensed there had been more to the conversation than Sam was willing to share. She considered pushing him to spill for about a half-second before deciding that she was too tired to mess with it. 

_You are not acting. You are letting events happen to you instead of taking steps to affect them._

“Fine,” she said, shrugging. “You guys enjoy yourself.”

“You’re not going?” Sam had clearly expected her to give in. Faith folded her arms across her chest and stared at him.

It was a mark in Sam’s favor that he could still recognize when it was dangerous to push her on something. “I’m sorry,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll talk to Samuel again.”

  


Awareness that he was losing Faith was a thread of unfamiliar panic laced through everything Sam did that night. Overall the mission had been a success. They’d captured most of a werewolf pack alive, even though Christian had been forced to sacrifice a couple of the beasts in order to keep his replacement partner safe.

Samuel had clearly been pleased, ordering Sam and Mark to stop for alcohol on the way back to base. Sam could have sworn his grandfather was about to add Christian to their company, but the old man said nothing once it was obvious that his nephew wasn’t around anymore.

“He probably decided to ride shotgun on the transport,” Samuel said, when he caught Sam’s expression. “Faith can take care of herself.”

Sam struggled against a surge of the same mindless possessiveness that seemed to be his primary connection to Faith these days. _”If Dean has no say in who I fuck, you sure as hell don’t.”_ He’d tried to respect that – they were the rules Faith lived by, after all – but in trying to accommodate her needs Sam hadn’t stop to consider that he really didn’t want Faith to be with anyone else.

Not even Dean. Not anymore. Not if he was being truly honest with himself.

The victory party was already in full swing by the time they arrived back at base, and Sam managed to forget most of his worries at the cheer that greeted them. _This_ he understood. They’d done their job, and now they got to relax and enjoy that fact.

It was simple – uncomplicated. Black and white, the way Sam Winchester liked his world.

Once he had a beer of his own, Sam made a few attempts to ask after Faith. _She must’ve decided to patrol,_ he concluded, after one of his more distant cousins reported that she hadn’t seen the Slayer since the team’s return. He slid onto a table near one of the warehouse walls, and watched the party take on a life of its own around him. Someone had dug up a radio, and several of the younger Campbells were dancing.

Approximately an hour and a six pack later, Sam spotted Christian talking to Samuel. Even across the distance that separated him from the other two, it didn’t take much for Sam to see that Christian was _pissed._

 _You’re projecting,_ he thought, doing a quick scan of the crowd. There was no sign of Faith – but that didn’t mean she wasn’t connected to whatever had set Christian off.

Whatever satisfaction Christian had been seeking from Samuel, he clearly wasn’t going to get it. The younger Campbell finally spun away from his uncle, and stalked across the floor towards Sam. He grabbed on of Sam’s beers and leaned against the nearby wall with an explosive huff of frustration. This close, Sam could see that a large, purplish bruise was blooming around Christian’s left eye. “What door did you walk into?” Sam asked, grinning slightly in an attempt to draw him out.

Christian was clearly having none of it. “Your sister-in-law is psychotic,” he spat.

 _Great._ “What did you do to her?” Sam asked.

“Told her I wouldn’t sleep with her.”

Sam laughed – he couldn’t help it. The statement was absolute bullshit – even if Faith hadn’t already filled him in, Sam knew Christian had no moral quandaries about sleeping around on his wife. He hadn’t cared enough to find out if he was cheating, or if they had an arrangement like Faith and Dean – as long as Arlene didn’t come sniffing around him, Sam could have cared less how their sex life worked.

“You’re an idiot,” he said finally, setting his beer down and looking directly at Christian. “You expect me to believe that you’ll sleep with any willing female that crosses your path _except_ the hottest looking woman in three counties and the best sex you would ever have in your life?”

“She said no,” he went on, sliding off the table. “She said no, and you can’t handle it.”

Christian snorted derisively. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you? Maybe you’re the one that can’t handle the fact that you’re not keeping her satisfied.”

Anger shot through him. Sam was privately grateful that he still knew _what_ he needed to say, even if he couldn’t remember how he needed to say it. “I like you, Christian,” he said carefully. “You’re a good hunter, you’ve got good instincts – and you seem like a good guy.” He almost faltered as he realized Faith had finally appeared. She was standing about fifty feet away, watching the two of them with stone-faced interest.

He had no idea how much she’d heard.

Refocusing on the target of his rage, Sam looked back at his cousin. He was aware that nearly every eye in the room was on them now as he pointed across to Faith. “Faith is my sister-in-law, and no matter how much I might like you, there is only one person in the universe more important to me than she is.”

A slow, unexpectedly sadistic smile spread across Christian’s face. ‘Yeah, and everybody knows you and your brother share everything…right?”

Sam would later try to reconstruct grabbing his cousin by the back of the neck and slamming his head into the table, but the first thing he clearly registered after the blur of motion was Samuel’s voice in his ears. “Sam!”

It was only then that Sam realized his fingers were wrapped around the neck of the nearest full beer bottle. Blowing out a shaky breath, he forced his hand down to his side, let Christian go, and stepped back. His cousin was shaking with rage when he straightened up, and Sam thought for a second that Christian was going to take a swing at him.

 _Bring it,_ he thought, welcoming the solid ground of a physical confrontation over the emotional minefield he’d somehow been dragged into. Samuel was between the two of them now, however – one hand pressing against Sam’s chest while he glared daggers at Christian.

“Walk it off,” he snapped. Christian flashed a murderous glance across the room at Faith. “And stay away from the girl!” he added sharply.

Sam watched Faith turn on her heel and walk out of the room.

  


__

_”Fate did not intend you to be some sort of security blanket for the young Winchester boy.”_ Death’s words rang in Faith’s mind as she slammed into her and Sam’s room.

 _You want action, Gramps?_ Faith thought, as she caught up her half-empty duffel bag. _I’ll fucking show you action._

In one stupid, impulsive move Sam had unraveled all the work she’d done to try and fit in with _his_ family. By threatening Christian in such a violently public fashion, he’d all but guaranteed that they would never accept her.

Beyond that, he’d also given Faith a good long look at the personality shift she’d been getting hints of ever since their first minutes free of Lucifer’s Cage. Somewhere Sam had developed a sense of ownership where Faith was concerned – something she didn’t allow _anyone_.

Grabbing articles of clothing at random, Faith began stuffing them into her bag. _You need to go. You need to leave now._ She didn’t even have a clear idea where she _could_ go – Faith just knew it had to be someplace that wasn’t here, and it had to be now.

“I asked Sam to give us a moment.”

Samuel was leaning almost too casually against the door frame. Faith snorted. “You want to beg me to stay?” She resumed her packing without taking her eyes off the Campbell patriarch.

“Hardly.” Samuel smiled coldly at her. “In fact,” he went on, “I think it’s best for all of us that you’re leaving. You’ve enjoyed an extremely unorthodox relationship with my grandsons, but even you have to see that it’s not working without Dean in the picture.”

 _It never does,_ Faith thought, resisting the urge to throw the truth in the old man’s face and see him choke on it. It didn’t take a lot to see that Grandpa Samuel saw her as an interloper. _A bad influence on his boy…same as Bobby,_ she thought, grinning in spite of herself. _Fuck – if only they knew._ She hadn’t done anything with or to either Winchester except validate what was already there.

“Just so you know,” she said finally, “the fact that you’re their blood means nothing to me. It buys you an in with Sam. Dean, maybe.” She stuffed the shirt she was holding in her pack and straightened. “Not me.”

Samuel shrugged. “Since you’ve decided to leave us, seems to me it doesn’t matter what you think of me anymore.” A small, wry smile tugged at the corner of his mount. “Or what I think of you.”

 _Fair enough._ Faith glanced around the room, and satisfied herself that anything she hadn’t already tossed into her bag could be replaced. She needed to go – and she needed to go _now._ Adrenaline was thrumming across her nervous system, driving her to get as far away from this place and all the people in it as she could.

Promises made a lifetime ago meant that she couldn’t leave without one parting shot. “You should probably know,” she said, squaring off with Samuel, “that if I find out you’re playing Sam, I will be back.” She took a step towards the older man, letting her expression go flat and cold. “And blood or no, Samuel, you don’t want me for an enemy.”


	3. I'd Like To Help You Doctor

**Chapter Nine**

Bonuses were handed out with the checks that Friday. “Time to celebrate,” Eliot declared, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Dean couldn’t have agreed more. The project had finished two days ahead of schedule, and the foreman had taken him aside that morning for a private talk.

 _”We’ve got a new job starting up in about three weeks. I could use you, if you’re interested.”_ Dean was stunned to realize that he was interested. The break would be nice, but he liked the idea of having something solid to look forward to. _And with a friend like Eliot to share the work…_

Their favorite bar downtown was packed with people. Dean waited near the front while Eliot tried to charm the hostess into finding them a table. Crowds of people milled around him – normal people, from normal walks of life. He smiled at the women who made no secret of checking him out, but when the first man deliberately put himself in his line of sight and made no secret of his interest, Dean was forced to turn his attention to the crowds outside.

This particular street in Cicero was two blocks off what passed for a “theater district”, which meant on a Friday night there were almost as many people walking the sidewalks as were packed into the bars and restaurants. _Families and dates and groups of singles – each one looking to celebrate the end of the week in their own uniquely human way._

Dean froze, his heart suddenly seizing in his chest. A woman was walking down the street by herself – her image slightly distorted by the heavy glass – but it was a face and form he knew as well as he knew his own name.

A woman he’d never thought to see again this side of death.

She was about to move past his line of sight, when awareness suddenly flooded back in around him. Dean bolted for the door, only marginally concerned with the people he had to shove past to get there. _Not possible. It’s not fucking possible._

He lost several precious seconds getting out of the bar; by the time Dean reached the street there was no one in view that provoked that same shock of stunned recognition. “It wasn’t her.” Adrenaline left him shaking and gasping for breath. _It wasn’t her. It couldn’t have been her. She wouldn’t let me go on thinking she was dead._

If Faith had somehow found a way out of Lucifer’s Cage, she would have contacted him. Dean knew he had to believe that, or he would have blown his brains out once and for all.

A hand on his shoulder made him flinch. “You okay?” Eliot asked.

Confused and disoriented, Dean looked into his friend’s eyes. _If she got out and Sam didn’t…_ No matter what they had promised each other, if Faith had escaped Lucifer’s Cage without Sam she would see it as having failed Dean. _Add in my little “Leave it to Beaver” gig…_ Now that he thought it through, it was a little too easy for him to make the case that Faith would decide it was in his best interest that she stay away from him.

“Dean,” Eliot repeated, giving him a little shake. “You’re starting to freak me out here.”

Reality flooded in around him with a rush. Exhaling sharply, Dean shook his head. “Sorry, man. Thought I saw somebody I recognized.”

Eliot looked uncertain, but let him go. “You still up for that beer?”

“You still buying?” Dean forced a smile on his face as he guided his friend back into the bar.

Miraculously they still had the table Eliot had negotiated for them. Dean suspected he’d also slipped the hostess an extra few dollars to guarantee that their claim wouldn’t get jumped. Spencer had a way of convincing people to do what he wanted; he didn’t seem to care what it took to make it happen, so long as things in his life ran smooth.

It was a skill Dean envied – even now.

Conversation stayed light and inconsequential until the waitress set down their bottles. Dean tried to pick his up, and was startled to realize his hand was still shaking. Swearing under his breath, he let go the bottle and tried to force himself to calm down.

“Who did you think you saw?” Eliot asked. Dean looked up and saw the quiet concern in his friend’s eyes.

He smiled bitterly. “My wife.”

Dean saw a flash of something he couldn’t identify, before Eliot’s expression became a study in quiet amazement. “Your wife? You never said you were married. Does Lisa know?”

“I’m sure she wishes I would sometimes, but I don’t lie to Lisa,” Dean said. It was the one promise he’d made that he’d managed to keep – no matter how ugly it got, he’d given Lisa the whole truth before he’d ever stepped across her threshold. “She knows,” he went on, staring at his beer. “Faith…died. Same accident that killed my brother.”

He hadn’t been prepared for how much the possibility of seeing Faith again – even a year later – was going to hurt.

  


Faith hadn’t planned on being seen. She hadn’t planned on anything after leaving the Campbells. All she knew was that she needed to see Dean. There was nothing logical about the urge – it was a deep, primal throbbing in her head that threw everything around her out of balance.

Eliot’s presence at Dean’s side was an unexpected obstacle. _Bobby didn’t say he was still on the job._ Of course Faith hadn’t talked to Bobby herself – that had always been Sam’s responsibility. As she and Sam had grown farther apart, her best source of information on Dean had dried up.

 _What the hell am I going to do?_ The arguments for her staying away from Dean were just as valid now as they had been a year ago. She’d burned her bridges with Sam and the Campbells beyond any hope of repair, and she’d seen too much and done too much to go back to being one of a thousand Slayers in Buffy Summers' army.

She’d continued hunting, recognizing that her need for the kill had to be satisfied. The problem was that somewhere along the way she’d lost her taste for solitude. For all the chaos and death that seemed to follow them everywhere, Sam and Dean had anchored Faith to the world of the living – and without that connection to steady her, she was drifting into old patterns and habits best left forgotten.

 _You aren’t that person anymore._ The ring on its chain around her neck was a constant, irritating reminder of how far away she was drifting from the person she’d finally chosen to be.

A flash of blue fire caught her eye, jarring Faith from her reverie. Instantly alert, she refocused her attention on the entrance to the pub. Dean was moving down the sidewalk, slipping past the crowds, heading for the parking lot. His location successfully pinpointed, Faith took a second look at the different groups of people milling around between Dean and the entrance to the bar, trying to see if she could pick out the source of the flash that had caught her attention.

 _Djinn._ A woman was standing a little further down the block, facing in Dean’s direction. Dark hair flowed down her back, and even at this distance Faith could see the faint blue fire tracing the tattoos on her arms. _No._ Tensing, she started across the street to intercept the monster. _You can’t have him, bitch!_

Faith thought for half a second about screaming to distract the Djinn, but quickly realized that making a lot of noise would attract the wrong kind of attention. _Not to mention bringing a lot of potential hostages into play._

By the time she made it across the street, Faith had no doubt the Djinn was targeting Dean. She dodged around a drunk couple, and was heading to intercept when she was suddenly grabbed from behind. Pivoting, her fist was already cocked and moving before she registered who was holding her.

Eliot knocked her blow aside with his forearm, glaring at her. “Have you lost your mind?”

  


For one heart-stopping moment, Eliot was surprised to find himself analyzing what it would take to put Faith down if he had to. Her eyes were wild, her expression bordering on unhinged.

“There’s a Djinn!” she said, gesturing towards the parking lot. “After Dean!”

Eliot looked in the direction Dean had gone, but he couldn’t see anything. “Go,” he told Faith. “I’ll call Bobby.” He was tempted to follow, but they’d all stressed to him over and over again that if something supernatural showed up on the scene he was to raise the alarm and stand back. If Faith hadn’t already been here he would have done what he could.

Since she was…

Following at a slower pace, Eliot pulled out his phone and hit speed dial. A moment later, Bobby answered. _”What’s wrong, kid?”_

Once Eliot had laid everything out, Bobby said, _”I’ve already heard from Sam. He’s on his way. Apparently this Djinn is on some kind of revenge kick for Sam and Dean offing her daddy a few years back.”_

“Faith’s chasing her down now,” Eliot told him. “This could be over in a minute or two.”

Bobby was quiet long enough that Eliot realized something else was in play. _”Has Dean seen Faith?”_

“He thought he saw her earlier,” Eliot admitted, “but he convinced himself he was imagining it.” A heartbeat later he saw Dean’s truck drive by, and tipped his friend an answering wave. “I’m guessing he doesn’t know.” He paused. “What’s going on, Bobby?”

When the other man finally answered, Eliot could hear the reluctance in his voice. _”Sam and Faith separated a few months back. According to Sam she was acting real iffy.”_

Dread flooded Eliot’s body, stopping him in his tracks. “Iffy? What does that even mean, Bobby?”

_”Kid, I probably should have told you before, but that little girl ain’t exactly the sanest card in the deck. She’s worked hard to overcome her past – I’m not gonna take that away from her – but we’re talking about somebody that was doing time for murder a few years back.”_

Eliot started to run.

Faith was down by the time he reached the parking lot, struggling to get back on her feet. Across the half-empty stretch of asphalt was a snarling woman entirely haloed in blue light. While Eliot’s brain was stuck trying to process the reality of her, she vanished.

“Bitch!” Faith spat. The expletive was enough to shock Eliot back to the here and now; he focused on Faith, who had regained her footing and was already scanning the area for her target. “Where the hell’d she go?”

“Vanished,” Eliot said, moving towards her. “Dean got away, though.”

If possible, Faith looked even more upset than before. “You don’t know that. We have to find him.”

 _”We’re talking about somebody that was doing time for murder a few years back.”_ Bobby’s words ringing in his ears, Eliot grabbed Faith’s arm as she attempted to brush past him. “Hang on. Bobby said Sam already knows. He’s on his way. Dean’s gonna be fine.”

“Sam?” Faith scoffed. “You’re nuts, if you think I’m relying on Sam to protect anyone right now – let alone Dean.”

 _That_ was a wrinkle Eliot hadn’t anticipated. “I’m driving,” he said, making his decision in a heartbeat. It was clear Faith was going to Dean’s aid, and given a choice between _with_ him or _through_ him, Eliot knew which one he preferred.

  


_Fucking Djinn._ She’d heard stories of the last Djinn attack Dean had survived. He’d admitted to her that it was one of the closest calls he and Sam had ever had, and Faith knew she’d be damned and buried before she let him risk that again.

“You put holes in my dash, you and I are going to have problems.”

Faith blinked, momentarily confused; then she realized Eliot was referring to the white-knuckled death grip she had on the dashboard of his truck. Her left hand was digging similar furrows in the upholstery. A very large part of her wanted to go ahead and call his bluff, but she retained just enough control to remember that he was doing her a favor.

“Sorry,” she managed to say, although relaxing more than a notch or two wasn’t in the cards.

When she glanced at him, Eliot’s expression was sympathetic. “He’ll be okay.”

Faith wished with all her being that she could believe him.

Less than ten minutes later, they were turning onto the street where Dean and Lisa lived. Three shadowy vehicles were already parked at the curb. “Looks like the cavalry’s here,” Eliot mused.

“Sonofabitch,” Faith swore as Eliot cut speed and the hulking shadows finally resolved themselves into shapes she recognized: Sam’s Charger, the van they typically used to contain creatures, and Christian’s truck. As Eliot slid his own pickup in behind Christian, the doors on the two larger vehicles opened. Three people dressed in black got out and started moving in their direction.

“I’d stay in the car, if I were you,” Faith said – not taking her eyes off the approaching cousins.

“They human?” Faith had to give Eliot credit – once again, Spencer was at least asking relevant questions.

Unfortunately, the best answer she could give him was “Technically.” Faith moved to open her door.

Almost as if on cue, two of the men took a step backwards – each raising a large semi-automatic rifle and taking aim at Eliot’s windshield. The third continued walking towards Faith’s side of the car, until light hit his face, and she could see it was Christian.

Faith wanted to get out. She wanted nothing more than to leap on Christian and take him apart – but the presence of the other two forced her to hesitate. She couldn’t help Dean if they shot her, and she couldn’t live with herself if anything happened to Eliot.

When he reached her window, Christian tapped lightly with the barrel of his own pistol. Faith glanced quickly at Eliot. His hands were in view – tight on the steering wheel – and he was staring straight ahead, keeping the rifle-wielding Campbells in view. “I fucking hate guns,” he growled.

 _Interesting._ Faith filed the information away for later, and turned back to deal with Christian. “Let us out,” she said, before the other man could say anything. “You know Dean’s under attack.”

Christian smiled lazily at her. “Dean’s blood, Faith. We’ve got this.”

Angered by his reaction, Faith tried to open the door. Christian immediately slammed it closed again. “You really don’t want to throw down with me, asshole,” Faith snarled. Visions were starting to bloom behind her eyes – images of knocking Christian to the ground and tearing his throat out with her bare hands. “I’m _going_ to help him.”

If Christian had any idea how much danger he was currently in from her, Faith couldn’t see it. “You can help Dean, and your little friend there…” He indicated Eliot with a small jerk of his head, “by driving away. We’ve been tracking this particular Djinn for two weeks now. Sam’s already in position to intercept.”

Faith could hardly believe what she was hearing. “Dean’s not here?”

“He will be. The Djinn’s poison will drive him right to us.”

 _He’s already infected._ God, how could she have been so stupid? She’d been so focused on keeping the Djinn _away_ from Dean that Faith hadn’t stopped to consider it might already be too late.

“All right,” she said finally, glaring at Christian. “You win.”

  


Eliot had tried working out different scenarios in his head from the moment guns came into play, but he quickly realized his only viable course of action was backing Faith’s moves. Given her determination to go to Dean’s rescue, he was as stunned as Christian when she backed down.

“You tell Sam I’ll be in touch,” Faith told Christian. “And remind him he knows what he’s risking by having you three pull this shit.”

Christian laughed at her. “I’m sure Sammy-boy will be quaking in his boots.”

Faith turned to Eliot. “Don’t put your back to them until we’re out of range.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” Christian stepped clear of the truck just in time for him to put it into gear and start backing down the street. “We’re not seriously leaving Dean to these assholes, are we?” Eliot risked a glance at Faith, and saw that she wasn’t at all happy about the situation

“No choice,” she said, and he finally heard the note of horror in her voice. “He was infected at the bar. If he’s not here, there’s really nothing to do but wait – and if we stayed we’d be a distraction.”

As she gave him the details of exactly what had happened to Dean, Eliot found himself growing more and more frustrated. With Faith to fill in the blanks for him, he was able to pinpoint exactly when the attack had occurred. The fact that the Faith Dean had seen through the window was real had been blind, stupid luck – the poison had already been working its way through his system.

Gradually Eliot realized that Faith had stopped talking, and was watching him instead. “What?”

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” she said.

Eliot snorted. “Didn’t figure you for the type to worry about my guilt,” he said, putting his eyes back on watching the road.

“You stuck by him,” she said, her voice suddenly softer. “The way Sam and I…” She shook her head. “Anyway – you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about. You did everything we needed you to. The rest is on us.”

Eliot pulled off to the side of the road and parked the truck. “Is there anything we can do to track him? Get to him before he reaches home?”

Faith considered his proposal. “Get me back to the bar. I’ll do what I can.” Before Eliot could say anything else, she shook her head again, holding up a finger. “One, your odds of survival against a Djinn are so small they’re not even worth thinking about.” She held up a second finger. “Two, you need to start thinking about pulling up stakes.”

That confused him enough that Eliot forgot about her certainty that he’d be little more than cannon fodder when hunting a Djinn. “Why?”

“If Sam’s decided to reconnect with Dean, one of the first things he’s probably going to do is blow your cover. You don’t want to be around when that happens.”

  


 

**Chapter Ten**

_They’re alive._

Dean knew the fact that he’d survived one of the most brutal Djinn attacks he could have ever conceived of literally paled against the knowledge that Sam and Faith were alive.

And _had_ been alive for nearly a year.

The imminent physical threat had overshadowed his ability to emotionally process it all. He had Lisa and Ben to worry about, and a family full of cousins he’d never even expected existed – most of whom he was sure he didn’t like any more than they seemed to like him.

And Sam at his back again – cool and confident, without a hint of regret for the hell he’d left Dean in.

Bobby, as usual, had been the one to sum up the whole impossible situation. “You were out! You were free! It was as close to happiness as I’ve ever seen a hunter get!”

The presence of Lisa and Ben, who’d taken him in at his lowest point – who’d loved him and who definitely hadn’t asked to be drawn into this nightmare – kept Dean from challenging Bobby and Sam’s belief that everything had been done with his best interests in mind. They were also the reason he couldn’t question Sam about Faith’s absence in any detail. The one time he had been able to broach the subject, his brother’s answer had been anything but satisfactory.

“She took off. Dude, you know how she gets.”

What was even more frustrating was that – all things being equal – Dean couldn’t realistically say Sam was wrong.

In the end it had almost been a perverse sort of relief to be able to part amicably with his brother and return to his nice, safe suburban life. Dinner had been a somewhat strained affair their first night home, in light of everything that happened, but by the time Dean and Lisa were getting ready for bed, he was secure in his decision.

“Did he say anything about Faith?”

Dean breathed a silent prayer of relief that he hadn’t been facing Lisa when she asked the question. He suspected she had timed things that way on purpose – Sam showing up alive was one thing. He was Dean’s brother; it was a relationship Lisa had seen for herself. She could understand it and not be threatened by it.

The return of Faith – his _wife_ \- touched on their situation in ways Lisa had every reason to feel threatened by.

When he was sure his expression was as neutral as possible, Dean turned around. “Lisa…” He started to go to her, but she shook her head and took a step back.

“Just answer the question, Dean. You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t wondering.”

He sighed. “Sam didn’t bring it up. I asked.” Hating himself, Dean watched her process the information; struggling all the while to maintain her self-control.

“And?” she asked finally.

“And she took off a few months ago. Sam hasn’t seen or heard from her.” He paused, trying to decide how straightforward he was going to have to be. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t lie to her, but over the course of his life Dean had learned that there were a million shades of truth.

 _You promised._ Looking into her eyes decided him. She’d opened her heart and her home to him without question. Dean knew he couldn’t start playing with the one thing he’d sworn to abide by. Not even if it meant hurting her.

“Before you ask,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, “no, I’m not going to race off and try to find her. Not even if you decide to kick me out tonight.” The statement clearly surprised her, but Lisa managed to do him the courtesy of not calling him a liar to his face.

Instead she asked, “Why not?”

“First of all,” he said, “where would I start? Second…” He took a deep breath. “She chose to stay away from me, Lisa. For over a year.”

“So did Sam,” Lisa countered, “but he came back.”

“That’s different. Faith…” He paused. “She’s done this before.” He chuckled bitterly. “Over shit Sam pulled, ironically enough.” Dean shook his head, fighting back tears of frustration. “I’m not really interested in spending the time it would take to track her down, only to get kicked in the balls for my trouble.”

Lisa was studying him carefully; Dean could almost feel her gauging the truth of his words. “What if she decides to come back?”

It was a good question, and one Dean had no ready answer for. “If she does, then we’ll have a lot to talk over. Beyond that, I don’t know, Lisa. I really don’t.”

  


  


Samuel hadn’t been happy about him going alone. Christian had scoffed and flat-out told Sam he was being an idiot. Sam heard them both out without saying anything in his own defense, then calmly got in his car and drove off to meet Faith.

He’d been expecting to hear from her, ever since Bobby had alerted him she was in Cicero the night of Dean’s attack. “You know how she gets, Sam,” had been Christian’s only excuse when Sam confronted him about keeping Faith away from the trap they’d set for the Djinn that attacked Dean. “Were you really willing to risk everything on her being involved?” His cousin’s attitude had irritated Sam, but he had to admit there was a certain wisdom in keeping Faith at arm’s length.

Saving Dean hadn’t been the only objective that night.

Sam had also been interested to learn whose company she’d been keeping. While he was grateful Eliot’s presence had kept Faith from escalating the situation and hurting Christian or one of the others, Sam privately suspected Spencer had been working his own agenda in order to stay on Faith’s good side.

 _Dawn pinking the eastern sky…Eliot and Faith walking together…a deep, passionate kiss before they parted at the porch._ Faith had assumed he was asleep. Sam had seen them, and it hadn’t been hard to draw the right conclusions.

 _You have no say in who she fucks._ He’d been angry at the time, consumed with the need to keep Faith’s attention for himself. Only his awareness that he would have lost her had kept him from saying anything.

Now? Sam checked his Taurus 9mm in its shoulder holster as the low growl of a motorcycle engine approaching his position reached his ears. He didn’t reasonably expect to have to use a weapon on Faith, but he’d also moved past assuming the best intentions in anybody.

“Here we go,” he muttered, pushing to his feet as the bike slowed and drew even with his car. Faith was riding it; she guided the sleek, black machine expertly to the curb and parked it.

Even across the distance that separated them, Sam could see the slight widening of Faith’s eyes as she took in his new look.

“What do you want, Faith?” he asked, before she could offer any comment on the unrelieved black he’d worn for their meeting.

  


What she wanted to do was hit him. She wanted to hit him and keep on hitting him. The problem was that Sam was the only one Faith knew could tell her what she needed to know without the emotional upheaval of approaching Dean herself.

“He’s all right," Sam said, anticipating her first question. "Samuel had a cure for the poison, and as far as we can tell there were no lasting effects.”

Once the knot of tension in her chest had unraveled and she could breathe again, Faith couldn’t resist asking, “Did you kill the Djinn? Or is she tucked away in one of Samuel’s little containment centers?”

Sam refused to rise to the bait. “You lost the right to question what we’re doing when you left us, Faith.” He paused. “I told Dean you were alive.”

It had been the very next question on her lips. Faith felt her heartbeat speed up as she asked, “And..?”

“And he decided to go back to Lisa and Ben. He decided to stay out of the game.”

 _He had a choice. He didn’t choose you._ Faith was quiet for several long moments, thinking carefully about what she was going to say next. “You gonna leave him out?” she asked finally

Sam shrugged. “His call.”

 _God, he means it._ Faith wondered again what was going on with Sam. The boy she’d come to know – the boy she’d welcomed into her life and her heart – would never have been so casual. _Not about this._

_Not about Dean._

“I threatened Samuel before I left,” she said, looking directly into Sam’s eyes. “Told him if I found out he was playing you, he’d have to answer to me.”

Sam smiled. “You going there, Faith? With me?”

“I mean it, Sam,” she said. “If Dean wants out – really wants out – you respect that.”

  


Dean would never know what had prompted the final conversation with Lisa – his increased paranoia, the fact that he’d answered Sam’s call for help in dealing with a shapeshifter problem, or the ever-present threat of Faith’s return hanging over their relationship. What he did know for certain was that he’d tried to do the sane thing – the responsible thing – by staying with Lisa and Ben, and once again the universe had kicked him right in the nuts.

The only saving grace was that Lisa hadn’t entirely closed the door on their relationship. _“If there's some rule that says this all has to be either/or, how about we break it? Me and Ben will be here, and you come when you can. Just come in one piece, okay?”_

Sam was patient with him about the whole mess, letting him wallow unchallenged, until one night when they were on the road to Bobby’s. “It’s probably for the best, you know.”

Dean glanced at his brother. “What is?” They’d just finished a job in Easter, Pennsylvania, and Dean had been thinking about how different Sam had been on the hunt. _A lot can happen in a year._ He believed it, but he wasn’t sure about what could have caused such fundamental changes in the one person on the planet he knew better than he knew himself.

Sam shrugged. “Your new arrangement with Lisa. You can’t live in both worlds, Dean. It’s gotta be one or the other.”

“Says the man with so much experience,” Dean scoffed. He was willing to go along, but up against the thoughts in his head the idea of Sam trying so hard to have a normal, brotherly conversation was starting to creep him out a little bit.

 _You don’t know what he went through down there in the Cage,_ he reminded himself, feeling a stab of guilt. _You weren’t exactly the poster child for sanity when Cas pulled you out of the Pit._

“Hey,” Sam said, choosing to continue the conversation despite Dean’s obvious reluctance to talk. “Stanford, remember?”

 _Stanford._ Sam’s attempt to have a normal life of his own almost didn’t seem real anymore, but Dean was forced to concede the point. They drove in silence for a dozen or so more miles, then Dean finally asked the other question that had been plaguing him for weeks, “Have you talked to Faith lately?”

Sam looked honestly surprised by the change in subject. “Been a while,” he admitted. “You?”

“No,” Dean said. “Did she ask about me?”

Sam chuckled. “What are we, in high school? Dude, call her. After we figure out what’s going on with this Alpha thing, take a couple weeks and see if you guys can work things out.” He paused. “So you’re giving up on Lisa?”

“No,” Dean said – then reconsidered. “Hell, I don’t know, Sam. I never did the chick-flick relationship drama, remember? That was always your deal.”

  


Bobby slid an envelope across the table. “Seriously, kid – take it. You went over and above for us.”

Eliot took a careful swallow of the whiskey Bobby had poured them both, and then pushed the white rectangle back. “Forget it. We’re square.”

“You’re an idjit,” Bobby snorted.

“You’re not the first person to suggest it,” Eliot noted, raising his glass again. “Good whiskey, by the way.”

A rumbling growl reached their ears – the distinctive sound of a classic car pulling into the yard. Exhaling sharply, Bobby got to his feet and looked out the window. “Kid,” he asked a moment later, “did you and Dean ever make peace about you spyin’ on him for us?”

Eliot joined him at the window. Dean’s black, ’67 Impala was rolling to a stop outside. “Nope,” he said. “Never had a chance.”

Bobby sighed again. “Well, this is just going to be loads of fun.”

  


“Bobby’s got company,” Sam noted as they got out of the car. A battered blue pickup truck was parked about thirty feet away. In the dim evening light, it took Dean a second to realize that he recognized the vehicle.

_No…_

Sam was halfway to the stairs when he realized Dean wasn’t following him. “Dude, come on!” he said, turning back. “What’s wrong?”

“I know that truck.” Dean finally managed to drag his attention away from Eliot’s vehicle to look at his brother. “Sam?” His chest tightened as he realized Sam knew what he was asking and why.

“We wanted to make sure you were safe.”

 _No… This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening_ His stunned disbelief was quickly being replaced by anger. “We?” Dean asked, taking a step towards Sam. “You and Bobby?”

He couldn’t see any shame or regret in his brother’s eyes. “And Faith. Dean, we were trying to look out for you.”

The words almost didn’t make sense to him. _Unbelievable._ Dean pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. “Amazing how nobody ever asks me what’s best for me anymore.” The phone rang a few times in his ear. A second later, Bobby’s door opened and Eliot stepped out on the porch.

“Hang up,” he said, coming to the head of the stairs.

The world went red around him. “Get your ass down here,” Dean snarled, crossing the yard. He looked past Eliot’s shoulder, to where Bobby was standing. “Funny – you don’t look Navajo, Bobby.”

Eliot walked slowly and deliberately down the rickety wooden steps – clearly trying to draw Dean’s attention. “I had to think fast. They never prepped me for walking into something like that.”

“From what Eliot told me, it was a hell of a good job, kid,” Bobby said. “I tried to account for everything you’d do, but you out-thought me.”

Dean glared at Sam, who was much calmer than he should have been under the circumstances. “Seems like everybody’s underestimating me these days.” He rounded on Eliot again. “So you were my babysitter?”

“I owed Bobby a favor,” Eliot said. “So…yeah. They wanted me to report on how you were holding up, and raise a warning if something supernatural came sniffing around.” He glanced at Sam. “Nobody thought you’d be protecting yourself and your family as well as you were.”

“What about the Djinn attack?” Dean asked. Eliot was in arm’s reach now; Dean was itching to lash out – looking for any excuse to unload on him for everything Sam, Bobby and Faith had put him through.

“Eliot raised the alarm,” Bobby said. “He didn’t know Sam was already in the area.”

Dean considered the information, and filed it away for later. “Okay,” he said, turning back to face Eliot, “answer me this.” He met the other man’s eyes – silently daring him to lie. “Did I see Faith outside the bar that night?”

He could tell Eliot had been expecting the question, and it was the one he didn’t want to have to answer. “Yeah,” he sighed at last. “You did.”

Jaw tight with barely suppressed rage, Dean nodded. “Okay. Okay.” He started to turn away, and at the last second whipped the hardest punch he could at Eliot’s face. Dean couldn’t have said later if it was dumb luck on his part, or if Spencer had let him have the hit, but his fist connected squarely with the side of Eliot’s mouth. Red-tinged spittle flew from the other man's lips, and a crack suggested that Dean might have broken a couple of his teeth.

Eliot didn’t end up on his butt in the dirt, but it was close. He staggered back several steps, catching himself on the porch rail at the last possible second. Glaring at him for another second, Dean turned and calmly walked away.

  


 

**Chapter Eleven**

Eliot, Bobby and Sam watched Dean stalk away. When he vanished around a stack of derelict cars, Sam turned towards Eliot and shrugged. “You pretty much deserved that one.”

Eliot pushed himself upright, and huffed out a short bark of laughter. “You have no idea, Junior.”

Suddenly angry at Eliot’s dismissive tone, Sam moved deliberately into the older man’s personal space. “Actually _sport_ , subtlety isn’t your strong point. I know exactly what you and Faith did.” He paused. “And Faith wasn’t the one who told me either.”

“You want to step back now, Sam.” Eliot’s voice was low and deadly, his expression flat and cold.

“All right, you two,” Bobby snapped, coming halfway down the steps. “We’re not doing this.” Eliot flinched when Bobby gripped his shoulder, but never took his eyes off Sam. “Sam, go check on your brother.”

Sam thought about arguing with Bobby for half a second. Standing toe to toe with Eliot Spencer, he realized that he would have enjoyed throwing down with the man. Eliot would have been a challenge – something Sam was finding he missed having in his life.

The problem was that throwing a punch here and now would raise questions he didn’t want to answer. So far everything Sam had done could be explained away as after effects of his time in Lucifer’s Cage. He needed to keep it that way as long as possible.

“Fine,” he said, glaring at Eliot before turning and stalking after Dean.

 _You should have told him sooner._ He’d thought about confessing what they’d done a couple of times, but once Dean returned to hunting full time Sam had honestly thought there was no need. As far as he could tell, it was stupid luck that they’d run into Spencer at all.

He finally found Dean in one of the many open areas between stacks of junked cars that littered the yard, approximately two hundred yards from the house. He was pacing back and forth, practically vibrating with anger.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly. Dean whipped around, and Sam took a reflexive step away from him.

“Sorry? One of the only things in my life that made sense over the last year, Sam, and I find out it was all a lie?” Dean’s hands were clenched in fists. “How can you even begin to apologize for that?” He advanced on Sam, who allowed Dean to back him into the nearest stack of rusted out metal.

“Dean, if I could do it over again…” Sam stopped; swallowed. The smell of sweat and anger and _Dean_ hit his nostrils suddenly, and caused a completely unexpected surge of arousal.

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he saw Sam’s physical reaction to his proximity. “Maybe it’s time I remind you who I really am.”

  


It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t the responsible thing to do, but standing toe to toe with Sam – feeling his body finally react to Dean’s closeness, to his anger – Dean couldn’t find it in his heart to care. Fisting a hand in Sam’s hair, Dean dragged him down for a kiss. _Swirl of tongues…press of lips…feelings long suppressed, but never forgotten…_

“I’m the one who really knows you,” Dean growled, pressing himself full length against Sam – pinning him against the cars. “I’m the only one who knows what you really want.”

“Dean…God…” It was a needy, desperate sound. Dean kissed him again. Sam fumbled with Dean’s belt, working his fly open and pushing his jeans and underwear down just far enough to free his cock. Dean shivered with pleasure as Sam palmed the head, and then wrapped his fingers around the shaft and stroked him. Dean rocked his hips, thrusting into Sam’s hand.

“Missed you.” Sam stroked Dean’s hair with his free hand as he continued jerking his cock.

“Show me,” Dean growled, his face mere inches from Sam’s. “Show me how much you missed me…missed this.” He thrust harder; Sam squeezed him just enough to send a flash across his nervous system.

Sam’s eyes were almost demon black in the dying sunlight. “We could always go inside.” A lazy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Oh, we will,” Dean said, letting Sam see how serious he was. “Later.”

  


Faith had never learned how to exorcise a demon. She’d studied the Rituale Romanum as a teenager, but had never had the chance to use it. In her life as a Slayer there had rarely been time to worry about exorcising the demons, and on the few cases where it _was_ the smart move, there had always been someone around more qualified than she was to handle the job.

As a hunter, she’d always let the boys handle the ritual work. Once they had determined if the exorcism was successful or not, she would step in.

 _The perfect blunt weapon,_ Faith thought, studying the knife in her hand. She was on her knees in the grass, next to a rapidly cooling corpse that had been a demon moments before. Blood was everywhere, streaking her skin, and soaking into her clothes. It had been a good kill – messy, but very satisfying.

 _And I saved an innocent,_ she thought, glancing to her left. _Go Team Me!_ A young woman, barely out of her teens, was tied to a pole in the middle of what looked like a ritual circle. She was gagged, and hadn’t stopped crying since Faith had appeared on the scene. Wiping the knife as clean as she could on the grass, Faith pushed to her feet.

When the victim got her first good look at her savior, she screamed.

“Shut up,” Faith snarled, stalking around behind the post. Her knife was too big to take care of the ropes easily, but she began dutifully sawing away. At the first sign hint of slack in her bonds, the panicked girl began to struggle – trying on her own to pull free. Faith grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back hard against the pole. “Hold still unless you want to bleed.” The girl did as she was told, but even in the dim light Faith could see fine tremors shivering across her skin.

“Unbelievable,” she snorted, going back to cutting the ropes. When she was finished, the victim collapsed forward on her hands and knees in the dirt – still sobbing around the cloth in her mouth. Faith stepped around the pole and crouched beside her. “You got a cell phone?”

The girl turned a tear-stained face in Faith’s direction, and shook her head.

 _Brilliant._ Faith sighed, mentally reviewing her options. While she was thinking, the girl finally managed to jerk the gag out of her mouth.

“Thank you,” she gasped. “Thank you.”

“Shut up,” Faith snapped, standing up again. “And next time be more careful about who you take rides from.” Making her decision in a heartbeat, she pulled out her phone and dropped it in front of the girl before turning and walking away.

  


At least twice a day Dean had to remind himself to be more tolerant of the Campbells. They were family…technically…and as far as he could tell they’d been good to Sam in the year Dean and Sam had been apart. Unfortunately, any good will they could have bought with that was spent every time someone made a crack about him being soft or useless.

And all of it was compounded by Dean’s growing suspicion that the changes in Sam had everything to do with their new-found kin.

He was sitting on the outskirts of an impromptu “no shit there we were” session when the call came in from Bobby. Dean immediately ducked into the next room, trying to ignore the eyes that watched him with suspicion bordering on the paranoid. When he heard Bobby had a possible lead on vampires in Limestone, Illinois, it was all he could do not to shout with relief.

“Got some family drama going on?” Bobby asked. There was a hint of amusement in his voice, and Dean actually chuckled.

“Bobby man, you have no idea. Thanks. Seriously,” Dean said. “You have made my week.”

When he returned to the party, he found Sam talking to Christian. Of all his cousins, Christian was the one Dean liked the least. The skinny Campbell seemed to get a perverse pleasure in poking him at every available opportunity.

 _Be nice,_ Dean reminded himself. All he had to do was get Sam to leave with him, and there would be no reason to engage. He reached out and punched Sam lightly on the arm. “Let’s roll, dude.”

Sam glanced at him. “What’s up?”

Dean glanced at Christian. “Bobby called. Could be nothing.”

Sam didn’t move. “Or?”

After a moment of trying to will Sam to just trust him, Dean sighed. “Or, might be vampires.”

Christian snorted. Rolling his eyes, Dean rounded on his cousin. “You got something to say?” Sam grabbed his arm, but Dean jerked free.

“I think it’s sweet, actually,” Christian said, squaring off with him. “The fucking monsters are trying to finish us off, and you’re more worried about reconnecting with your slut of a wife.”

Dean blinked, stunned. He looked at Sam for confirmation of what Christian was implying. “God, please tell me she didn’t…” Dean’s voice trailed off. He’d never said anything about Faith’s choice of bed partners before, but if she’d had sex with Christian…

Sam snorted. “Give her at least a little credit, will you? He got pushy and she put him in his place fast. Why do you think he’s trying so hard to piss you off?”

Painfully aware of how many eyes were suddenly on them, Dean flashed his best asshole grin at his cousin. “That had to hurt, huh?”

Christian shrugged. “I got what I wanted – she left, didn’t she?”

Dean hadn’t heard that part. He looked back at Sam, who flashed Christian a disgusted look. “You really think you had anything to do with that?” His eyes met Dean’s. “Remember two summers ago? Similar deal.”

 _Sibling shorthand._ Dean was irrationally pleased that Sam had resorted to it in order to keep the other Campbells in the dark. Two summers ago he’d been the one in hell. Sam and Faith had once again been thrown together by circumstance – Faith seeing it as her duty to watch over Sam in Dean’s absence. The two of them had parted company after a couple of months over Sam’s determination to walk a path Faith knew Dean wouldn’t approve of.

Dean wondered if Sam had intended him to take away as much as he had from the cryptic statements, but decided now really wasn’t the time for an in depth conversation.

“We going or not?”

  


 

**Chapter Twelve**

_”What’s going on?”_

_“It doesn’t matter. But I need you to know, you and Ben, just...thanks, okay? For everything.”_

Dean had scared her a lot since introducing her to the darker side of his world – in fact, if pushed Lisa would have to admit it was something he excelled at. She couldn’t remember anything more disturbing than waking up to find him standing over her, talking as if it was the last time they would be seeing each other.

Then he had attacked Ben. Now that he was gone, and her protective instincts were starting to back off full red alert, Lisa wasn’t sure he’d shoved the boy on purpose. But she also wasn’t sure anymore that she could take the chance.

Once she was sure Ben was all right, Lisa paced the perimeter of their house and double-checked that everything was physically secure. When she was satisfied they were as safe as possible, she retreated to the kitchen and grabbed the last of Dean’s whiskey and a glass.

 _Dammit!_ She poured herself two fingers of alcohol and tossed it off in one swallow. The burn steadied her, keeping the tears momentarily at bay.

 _How did I get here?_ she thought, pouring herself a full glass this time. She’d made some bad choices in men over the years, up to and including Ben’s father, but she’d always thought Dean was one of her better moves. Damaged sure – but underneath his childhood trauma he always seemed like a decent, caring person.

And Ben had loved him. _I didn’t imagine that._

She needed options. Dean was in trouble – for all that she had to protect herself and Ben, Lisa had seen that for herself. _And no sign of Sam when he..._

As she worked her way through the whiskey, one of the photos on the refrigerator caught Lisa’s attention. It had been taken on the Fourth of July, and showed Dean, Ben and Eliot setting off illegal fireworks in the driveway.

 _Eliot…_ It was a longshot, but this was a situation where Lisa didn’t have a lot of reasonable options to choose from.

  


Setting Dean up to get turned – giving them a man on the inside of the Alpha Vampire’s nest - had been a good plan. The problem was that Sam hadn’t accounted for his brother’s guilty conscience. Dean had been falling back into the groove. Things were getting back to where they needed to be. Sam had set a dangerous game in motion, sure, but it was the best shot they were ever likely to get at the Alpha Vampire. It didn’t make any sense to walk away from it.

 _Except…_ If Dean had indeed bitten Lisa or Ben they’d lose him. And as hard and practical as Sam had grown he wasn’t prepared to take that step.

_Not as long as we have options._

The problem was that his best option – Faith – would also be the most difficult to control. _The last thing I need is another rogue piece on the board._ They also didn’t have time to track her down – as far as Sam had been able to determine, her cell phone had been abandoned weeks earlier. He didn’t dare alert the Slayers that anything was wrong, and beyond that they had no way of easily finding her.

Just as he was coming to terms with the idea that they would have to ride it out and hope for the best, his cell phone rang.

_”I hear you’ve got a problem.”_

Eliot.

“It’s nothing we can’t handle,” Sam said, exchanging glances with his grandfather. “There is something you can do for me, however,” he said, deciding to reach for the gift that had suddenly been dropped in his lap.

It had taken some work to convince Eliot to shut up and play along. He kept offering alternatives, until finally Sam lost his temper. “Look – I do need your help, but I also need you to trust that I know what I’m doing!” He turned away from the startled expression on Samuel’s face. “I’m asking you to help me do what’s best for Dean, okay? We’re in the middle of a job here, and I can’t let him get distracted by something he may or may not have done.”

Once he had Eliot’s word that he would look in on the Braedens, Sam terminated the call as quickly as he could. Turning back to Samuel, he was brought up short by the old man’s calculated expression. “You didn’t tell him.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but it was close.

Sam shrugged. “No point. We need to verify Dean didn’t lost control last night.” He glanced down at the machete in his hand. “If he did, Spencer will find out sooner than we can.”

Samuel couldn’t argue with that. If Dean had bitten either Lisa or Ben, any cure they offered him would be too little, too late. And if one civilian had to be sacrificed so they could proceed in the right direction with regards to Dean, then that was a price both of them were willing to pay.

  


“Lisa, I’m not really sure what you think I can do.” Three days had passed since Dean’s disastrous attempt to see his family, and Eliot was sitting at the table. Ben had made a brief appearance, but seemed more than willing to leave the adults alone. Predictably, Lisa had felt the need to apologize for his son’s behavior.

Eliot waved aside her concern. “This would be a lot for somebody twice his age to deal with. Kids are tough.”

Lisa looked doubtful, but let it pass. “Have you seen Dean?” she asked finally. “Talked to him at all?”

Eliot rubbed his jaw, remembering the feel of Dean’s knuckles connecting with his flesh. “We didn’t exactly part on good terms,” he confessed. Off Lisa’s look of confusion he elaborated, “I’m a friend of Bobby Singer’s. He asked me to come here and keep an eye on Dean – make sure he was doing okay.”

Lisa laughed bitterly, and even Eliot had to admit the entire plan had ended up more pear shaped than any of them could have imagined.

“I can take the two of you into hiding,” Eliot said finally. “New life, new identities. I’ve got connections.”

Lisa looked doubtful. “More running?”

Eliot reached out and gripped her hand. “It would be the last time. You and Ben could start over. None of this mess would touch you anymore.”

“Dean…” Lisa began, and then stopped. Eliot could see the stain of memory in her eyes – good man turned monster. It was a story he knew all too well.

“Lisa,” he said gently, “ultimately this has got to be your decision. And I know you’ve got feelings for Dean – I do. You’ve got to do what’s best for you and Ben though, right? Nobody else is going to be able to do that for you.”

  


More and more, Faith realized she was craving blood in her kills. The momentary rush of dusting a vampire was nothing compared to the deep satisfaction of riding a monster to the ground and cutting off its head or carving out its heart.

Demons, ghouls, an angiak – she began actively stalking game that required a knife to dispatch, instead of dealing with whatever happened to cross her path. The problem with her new lifestyle was that really bloody kills tended to draw the wrong kind of attention. Faith dealt with it as best she could, returning to what her second Watcher had once told her was a “Spartan” lifestyle. She began avoiding contact with other people wherever possible, and only kept enough cash on hand at any given time to put gas in her bike, feed her and put a roof over her head at night.

Whenever she was forced to make a choice between the three, food and shelter went by the wayside every time in favor of keeping the bike running. She needed to keep moving…keep killing. As long as she could manage that, Faith felt like everything would eventually work out the way it was supposed to.

“They won’t let you die, you know.” Death appeared at the site of her most recent kill – a wendigo that had been feeding off local tourists. Faith was covered in blood and slime and wendigo hair, and for half a second she was tempted to tell Death exactly what he could do with his proclamations and his intentions for her.

As always, however, there was something about the old man that curbed her nastier impulses. “Isn’t that part of the grand design?” she said at last. “Nobody stops Death? I thought you were powerful enough to reap God.”

“The forces you have set in motion are powerful,” Death said. “They disturb the natural order. Eventually you are correct – things will balance themselves out, but you will forgive me _child_ if I do not feel like cleaning up another one of these messes so soon after the last one.” His voice sharpened, the intensity increasing again until Faith flinched.

“I need a shower,” she said, narrowing her eyes and trying to pretend that her voice wasn’t shaking. “Any chance we can speed this up?”

“Neither of you see your own worth,” Death went on. “You are given proof over and over and yet you reject the truth of your own senses.” He paused. “Why have you not returned to Dean?”

Faith’s expression darkened at the mention of Dean’s name. “He didn’t return to me.”

  


_Sam’s soul…missing._ It was almost too big for Dean to swallow, but it made too much sense. He looked at Castiel.

“Any advice? Seriously, Cas – I’ll take anything at this point.”

Castiel looked at Sam. The fact that his brother was still vertical just reinforced to Dean how alien the man he’d been sharing his life with was. The Sam he’d grown up with would have been unconscious for at least a day after what Castiel’s examination had put him through. “You don’t remember anything about your time in the Cage, Sam?”

“Not a thing,” Sam said. Dean was grateful that Sam wasn’t giving them attitude. He knew on a very deep level that he would have loved to burn off some frustration with some heavy physical violence, and right now he was pretty sure blood was no barrier.

“Safe assumption,” Dean said, “it’s still in the Cage.”

Sam nodded. “Safe assumption, but it might as well be on Mars.”

“Sam is right,” Castiel said. “Without knowing how Sam and Faith were freed from the Cage, we have no reasonable way of getting back in.”

“Reasonable,” Dean snorted – but Cas’ words had reminded him of something. “Sam, didn’t you say that Faith remembered everything?”

“That’s what she said,” Sam conceded, “but she refused to give me any details.”

 _Did you ask?_ Dean wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He and Sam had enough on their plates right now without Dean looking for an unnecessary fight. “Do you know how to get in touch with her?”

Sam shrugged. “Dude, I tried same as you. She’s ditched her phone, and until she tries to contact us, we’ve literally got no way to find her.”

Dean turned to ask Castiel for help, but the angel was already gone.

  


Faith was starting to understand why Buffy Summers had always preferred fucking vampires. She was in an alley, pressed up against a grease stained brick wall as the monster thrust into her over and over – fucking her hard enough that she knew she would be bruised and bloody when they were finished.

Sweat slicked their bodies; Faith’s legs were wrapped around the vampire’s waist. “So tight…” he growled as her second brain-blowing orgasm bled into a third. “So hot…”

His breath was fire against her skin. “Let me taste you. God…I can smell it on you, Slayer. You’re bleeding.” It was all Faith could do to keep breathing…she’d known the vampire had fed by how thick and hard he was, but the blood of a Slayer was almost impossible to resist.

Her arms were twined around his neck. Faith reached for the stake she had slid up the sleeve of her shirt, pulling it free with a shaking hand. The vampire’s body was starting to jerk and convulse – his rhythm faltered for a half dozen strokes, then his hips locked in tight to hers and he half-collapsed against her. Faith cried out as he filled her with his come, her muscles tightening around him.

Fangs flashed in the dim light. Faith waited until she felt the points graze her skin before stabbing him with the stake. Slayer reflexes put her back on her feet as the vampire swirled to dust around her.

She remained motionless for several minutes, trying to catch her breath and calm her trembling muscles. Once she felt grounded enough to start pulling her clothes back in place, memory of the last few minutes of sex with the vampire replayed itself in her mind.

She’d hesitated. When he’d moved to bite her, the desire to let him was so strong it had stayed her hand.

 _You wanted him to kill you._ It was a sobering realization. Faith felt like she was balancing on the edge of an emotional cliff, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than for somebody to reach out and pull her back.

A plan slowly began piecing itself together in her mind. Once she was as physically presentable as she ever got these days, Faith crossed the street to the town’s all-night drugstore. A young man was the only one in the building – his reaction to her sudden appearance at the counter spoke volumes on how far she’d drifted away from herself. She needed help, and she’d probably waited too long to ask for it.

“Can I use your phone?”

  


It was still the one place where everything worked for them – a place beyond missing souls and demonic deals, where they could be uniquely themselves. Dean didn’t understand why, after everything they’d lost this one thing remained untouched; but each time he saw that look in Sam’s eyes and felt him shaking with pleasure, he knew better than to challenge it.

“Come for me, Sam.” Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock, slick with sweat and precome, and stroked him hard and firm. Sam’s back bowed, hands fisted in the sheets as streaks of come striped his chest and stomach. “Need to feel you…” He choked on the words, crying out as the feel of Sam’s body squeezing hard around his own cock sent him spiraling into his own orgasm.

The world blurred and spun around them as they came together – the moment stretching out farther than usual as Dean struggled to hold onto it. Once it was gone, they would have to deal again with a world where they took orders from a demon.

A world where Sam wasn’t Sam.

Dean was sweat-soaked and shaking by the time he slid himself free. Sam shuddered as their bodies separated, breathing hissing out sharply between his teeth. “Damn…”

Still not entirely sure of himself, Dean collapsed on the bed next to his brother. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, but without hormones or alcohol to keep it quiet his brain was determined to keep worrying at the problem of Sam’s soul until it came up with a better solution than “being Crowley’s bitch”.

After a few minutes of quiet, Sam laughed shakily. “You should be too tired to think that loud.”

Groaning, Dean pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes. “Can’t help it. Brain won’t shut the fuck up.”

Rolling onto his side, Sam propped himself up on one elbow. “Dean – let it go. Until one of us figures out a better plan, this is the only way we’re going to get Crowley to give up my soul.” Reaching out with his free hand, he skimmed his fingers down Dean’s chest, pausing to scrape his nails lightly across each nipple. Dean shivered, licking suddenly dry lips.

“Stop torturing yourself.” Sam’s hand slid lower, fingers wrapping around Dean’s half-hard cock – working and teasing at the tired flesh. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” Sliding closer, he bent down and kissed Dean – teasing skillfully at his mouth with the tip of his tongue until Dean opened for him.

It was hard for Dean to be responsible and focus on the problem at hand when faced with the temptation of those things Sam was capable of doing to him with hands and mouth and his cock.

_Worry about it later._

  


 

**Chapter Thirteen**

Faith had no idea how long it had been since she’d walked in the normal world. She’d tried to set her rendezvous with Eliot as late as possible, but even so there were still too many eyes on her as she entered the diner. _Too many people. Too much life._ It was painful and confusing to be around; every instinct Faith had was screaming at her to run. She couldn’t be around people anymore…there was no telling what would happen.

“Two,” she said to the woman at the hostess station. Her voice sounded as strange as it had the night she’d called Eliot and asked him to meet her. “I’m…meeting someone.”

She could tell the woman didn’t want to have anything to do with her, and was in fact trying to decide if she could get away with turning Faith out into the street. Sliding a hand into her pocket, Faith pulled out the money she’d stolen after talking to Eliot and peeled a twenty dollar bill off the roll. “Please,” she said, sliding it across to the woman and trying to look harmless.

Glancing around for a moment, the hostess took the money and slipped it into a pocket of her frilled apron. “Follow me, honey.” She grabbed two menus out of the nearby holder and started walking towards the back of the restaurant.

Faith returned the roll of bills to her pocket and followed the woman. She hadn’t wanted to risk stealing the money, but she’d needed cash to be able to get some place Eliot could find her by the date he’d insisted on.

An image of her shoving the hostess’ skull through the nearest window flashed across Faith’s mind as she slid into the booth, but she managed to keep from following through with the impulse. _You’re all sheep,_ she thought, forcing herself instead to say “thank you” as she accepted the menu.

“Can I get you something to drink?” the woman asked.

“Water,” Faith said. Opening the menu, she began looking over her choices – barely registering the words on the page. The screaming had started again in her mind; a thin, desperate sound that she knew on some level was something she needed to be worried about. Focusing on the problem for too long, however, made her feel thick and stupid. It was easier to just let the irritation continue unchecked.

A different woman set a glass of water in front of her. “Do you want me to bring you anything?”

A list of possible food choices scrolled through her mind. Faith retained enough awareness of her surroundings that she understood it had been too long since she’d had a decent meal, but ordering was suddenly more of an effort than she felt like making. “I’ll wait for my friend, thanks.”

  


Eliot suspected he would have gone to meet Faith regardless, but he took the time to call Bobby and get the hunter’s take on the situation.

 _“Dean’s real hot to find her, kid,”_ Bobby admitted, after telling Eliot that Faith had gone completely off the grid. _“Unfortunately his plate’s pretty full with Sam right now.”_ Eliot barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“There’s a reason she called me instead of one of the boys, Bobby,” he said, putting all the pieces together in his mind. “I think I should check it out before we let them know she’s made contact.”

 _“I agree,”_ Bobby said. _“I owe you.”_ Eliot took the promise with a grain of salt up until he walked into the diner in northern Virginia.

“You’re meeting somebody, right?” the hostess asked as he approached. There was a definite thread of fear in her voice.

Eliot nodded, giving the woman his best “country boy” grin. “I am,” he said. “And I see her over there.” He nodded toward the back, where he’d already spotted Faith.

Her relief was palpable. Leaving her with a request for hot tea, Eliot walked as calmly as he could to the back of the restaurant. The closer he got to Faith, the more he seriously considered holding Bobby to this one. The woman watching him with a predator’s eye was a nightmare of muscle and bone; the majority of her face hidden by the thick fall of her dark hair. She was so far from the person Eliot had met a year ago, that he almost turned on his heel and walked out.

 _She called you,_ he reminded himself. She wants help. Compassion, plus the knowledge that Dean would want him to do what he could, kept Eliot moving forward.

“Hey, Faith.”

Up close, her dark eyes were sunken into bruised hollows in her too pale face. Eliot couldn’t sense any emotional reaction to either his greeting or his presence as he slid into the booth across from her.

His first questions were interrupted by the appearance of the waitress with his tea. Eliot glanced quickly at the menu and ordered the first thing that caught his eye. Faith waved the woman away, but Eliot stopped her. “Cheeseburger and fries for her,” he said, glancing at Faith.

The waitress nodded and hurried off. “You didn’t have to do that,” Faith said.

“You tell me you’re eating three squares a day and I’ll call you a liar,” he countered. “Faith, what the hell happened to you?”

She snorted. “Why the hell do you care?”

It was worse than he thought. “Everybody’s looking for you,” he said carefully. “Dean’s been worried about you.” Eliot pulled out his cell phone and set it on the table between them. “We should call him and let him know you’re okay.”

Faith glanced at the phone, and then started to laugh – a hoarse, broken sound. Tears spilled down her cheeks, flashing in the overhead light. “Damn sport – you’re funny when you want to be.”

Eliot rolled with the comment. “We need to call him.”

The laughter stopped too quickly, and Eliot saw a flash of something in her expression; gone before he could figure out what it was. “I can’t call Dean,” she said, swallowing hard. “Not anymore.”

“Faith, what happened to you?”

There was a shiver in the air. Eliot blinked, and suddenly there was an older gentlemen in a conservatively cut suit crowded in the booth next to Faith. “Looks like I got here just in time.” He had a British accent, and an open, pleasant nature. Despite his own best instincts, Eliot found himself wanting to trust the man.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Crowley,” the newcomer snapped. “And I’m not here for you, junior, so just sit back while the Slayer and I finish our business.” He smiled coldly at Eliot. “We’ll be out of your way in a moment.”

The implied threat to Faith was enough to shock Eliot out of his initial response to Crowley’s aura. He tensed, leaning forward. “The lady and I were talking. Privately.”

Crowley glared at him. “Sit back, boy. You’re not impressing me.” His eyes flashed red, leaving no doubt in Eliot’s mind as to his lack of humanity.

“You realize I’m not going to just let you walk out of here with her,” Eliot said, although he forced himself to do what Crowley wanted and relax back into his seat. This was all way above his pay grade, and getting himself hurt or killed wasn’t going to solve anything.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You know, I’m fine with a bit of self-sacrifice, especially when I can twist it to my purposes, but I don’t have the kind of time I need to teach you a proper lesson.” He caressed Faith’s cheek, turning her face until their eyes met. “Are you ready for the pain to stop, Slayer?”

“Faith, don’t…” Eliot reached for Faith, but stayed his hand once he realized she’d fallen into some sort of trance and didn’t even realize he was still there. A dozen different possible moves flashed through his mind in a heartbeat, but against a supernatural opponent every single one of them ended in either him or Faith hurt or killed. Eliot knew he wouldn’t have minded the latter for himself, if he could have had even the slightest hope that it would have benefited her.

Crowley blinked suddenly, glancing down at Faith’s chest. “Still carrying this piece of trash?” he asked, frowning. Tsking, he grabbed the chain Faith always wore around her neck and tugged sharply. Faith exhaled softly as metal parted and Crowley pulled her wedding ring into view. “That’s better,” the demon said, smiling at her.

Without looking at Eliot, he held the spinning circle of gold over the table. “Get rid of that for me, would you?” Eliot reached out to take it, and a moment later Faith and Crowley were gone.

  


“We’re not having this discussion,” Dean said, glaring at Sam and Cas. “I mean it. If there’s any chance of getting Sam’s soul back, we’re taking it.”

Before either of them could respond, Dean’s cell rang. He pulled it out, and rolled his eyes when he saw the caller ID. _Eliot Spencer._ “If it isn’t one thing…” he muttered, answering the call. “No offense man, but I really don’t have time…”

_”Heard from your wife lately?”_

Dean froze, looking across the room at Sam. “You’ve seen Faith.”

 _”I’ve seen somebody who looks like her,”_ Eliot said. _”I know you’re probably still pissed at me, but she’s sick man._ Real _sick.”_

Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. “Is she still with you?” He saw Sam tense and turned his back on his brother. He still didn’t know everything that had happened between Sam and Faith, and right now Dean knew he couldn’t afford to get distracted.

 _“British guy showed up just as we were starting to talk.”_ There was a moment of silence. _”He looked human, but his eyes were red, and Faith couldn’t take her eyes off him. They left together.”_

“Crowley,” Dean breathed. Inside he was screaming, _How could you just let him take her?_ He kept it to himself, however. Eliot was a normal – he couldn’t be expected to take on any demon, much less a demon as powerful as Crowley.

Almost as if he could read Dean’s thoughts, Eliot said, _”I would have moved on it, Dean, but I didn’t want to risk her.”_

“No,” Dean said. “You did the right thing. Tell me everything. No matter how stupid it sounds – tell me everything that went down.” Before Sam could stop him, Dean opened the door to their motel room and stepped outside.

 _He had believed Sam._ He had believed his brother when Sam insisted that Faith had been fine the last time he’d seen her. As he listened to Eliot describe the level of Faith’s physical and emotional deterioration, Dean grew more and more angry.

“And Crowley didn’t seem surprised by any of this?” he asked during a pause in Eliot’s report.

 _“No,”_ Spencer confirmed. _“He asked if she was ready for the pain to stop. Definitely seemed to me like the man had a plan.”_

 _That would be Crowley’s speed,_ Dean thought, leaning against the Impala for support. “Did you get a chance to talk to her at all before Crowley showed up? Find out what she’s been doing?”

_“Not much. I asked her how she was feeling, and it seemed to energize her a bit. British guy showed up immediately afterwards, before she could say anything.”_

_”No one ever asks the caretaker how they’re doing._ For some reason, Eliot’s description sparked a memory of Tessa’s cryptic message from Death. “Thanks, Eliot. Really. This is a big help.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Eliot said, _”You’re going after her.”_ It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “And before you say anything else, Eliot – this is major. I can’t let you get involved.”

_”You think I’m asking your permission?”_

_Bobby trusted him enough to put him at your back,_ Dean recalled. The best argument in favor of him inviting Eliot to the party was a sobering one, however – Dean realized that at this point he trusted Spencer as much, if not more, than his own brother.

“All right,” he conceded. “If you can get here by sundown tomorrow, you’re in.” It would take him and Sam at least that long to track down Crowley’s location.

  



	4. I Can't Really Hear You

**Chapter Fourteen**

“I’ve heard of strange bedfellows…” Dean muttered, glancing around at the variety of creatures that had united in such a short time around the shared goal of taking down the King of Hell. He and Sam were leaning against the hood of the Impala, going through a final weapons check. Around them were Meg and her demons, Castiel and Eliot – who’d arrived just in time to join the party.

“It’s just a question of who’s gonna screw who first,” Sam noted.

Dean shrugged. “As long as it’s not us getting the supernatural ass-raping this time, I’m cool.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Dude, it’s always us.”

Dean chuckled. It was gallows humor, but he was learning to take his laughs where he could. _Besides – he’s right._ No matter how the chips fell tonight, he and Sam were top candidates to walk out of Crowley’s stronghold thoroughly fucked over.

 _As opposed to being the top candidate for not walking out at all._ Dean glanced at Eliot, who was checking the salt gun Dean had given him. A silver knife rested on one hip, and a length of cold iron on the other. He’d also been loaded down with every protective charm Dean could lay his hands on at such short notice.

Sam noticed where he was looking. “You could have said no.”

Unwilling to admit either that Sam was right, or that he felt any level of loyalty at all to Spencer, Dean shrugged. “His funeral.”

“Hey!” Meg stood with her crew, hands on hips. “You boys finished primping yet?”

“I am so gonna enjoy killing her,” Dean growled. Picking up his 12 gauge, he walked back to talk to Eliot. “Last chance to bail,” he said.

Eliot shouldered the salt gun. “Not a chance,” he said. “Dean…”

Dean glanced at Sam, but his brother gave no sign he was paying attention to their conversation. “The only people I give a shit about in this are you, me, Sam and Cas,” he said. “Anybody threatens that, you do what you can.”

“Got it,” Eliot said. “Dean…”

“No,” Dean said emphatically, cutting him off with an emphatic gesture. “We’re not doing this now. I know you don’t really understand what we’re up against, but this is not the time.”

Eliot didn’t back down. “I know enough to understand I’m the cannon fodder in this relationship,” he said, “so will you please just shut up for a sec?”

Put that way, Dean could hardly argue with the request. “All right,” he sighed. “I’m listening.”

Eliot studied him for a long moment. “Two things, Dean,” he said finally. “One – I’m sorry things ended the way they did. I know it’s lame and ridiculous under the circumstances, but I wanted you to know that it wasn’t all a lie. Two…” He pulled something out of the front pocket of his jeans. “I figured you’d want this back.”

He passed over the item in his fist; Dean was stunned to see Faith’s wedding ring suddenly resting on his palm. “Crowley took it off her,” Eliot went on. “It was the last thing he did before he took her.”

Dean closed his hand over the circle of gold, squeezing until he felt the edges dig into his flesh. “Thanks.”

  


 

Starting with the hellhound attack and bleeding straight through Samuel Campbell successfully banishing Castiel from the premises into him betraying Sam, Dean and Eliot into Crowley’s custody – even by Sam and Dean’s admittedly skewed perspective, the raid had turned into a cluster fuck of epic proportions with a speed that defied understanding.

Sam could tell their grandfather’s betrayal had cut deep with Dean, because it defied everything he understood family to be. He and Dean were Mary’s children; Dean had never questioned that would carry weight with Mary’s father.

Samuel very clearly had other ideas. He’d set Dean straight in very short order. Sam couldn’t physically see his brother’s face, but he could picture Dean’s expression perfectly in his mind.

 _”I’ll tell you who I am,”_ he’d said to Samuel. _”I’m the guy you never wanna see again. ‘Cause I’ll make it out of here, trust me. And the next time you see me, I’ll be there to kill you.”_

 _”Don’t think there’s gonna be a next time.”_ Samuel’s response had made Sam smile. He realized immediately that even his grandfather didn’t believe what he was saying. Dean’s response had been short and completely to the point.

_”Whatever gets you through the night.”_

Sam approved.

Drawing strength from Dean’s quiet confidence that they would live through this, Sam began developing the threads of what he thought might be a workable plan. By the time the ghouls flanking Samuel dragged Dean out of his cell, he was firmly into “just so crazy it might work” territory, heading straight for “you have got to be kidding me”.

With a glance out the tiny window of his cell to ensure the hallway was clear, Sam took a deep breath and then bit hard into his own flesh.

One hastily drawn Devil’s Trap and two demons later, Sam was bandaging his bleeding wrist as best he could, and locking the door of his cell behind him. He had no way of telling where the ghouls had taken Dean, which automatically bumped Eliot Spencer to the top of his rescue list.

Sam understood intellectually that he needed to do what he could to help Eliot. Aside from the fact that he was arguably the weakest member of the party, Sam didn’t need his soul to understand that this was somebody important to Dean – and as a result, should have been important to him. Even so, every instinct he had saw Spencer as a threat. He couldn’t even effectively determine how – he just knew that if it had been left up to him in the first place, the man wouldn’t have gotten within five miles of this hunt.

He wasn’t being held in the same hall as Sam and Dean had been. Concerned, Sam moved into the next corridor and started checking rooms. He found Eliot in the third cell he checked, pacing the floor. “Ready to get out of here?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, Sam went to work on picking the door lock.

Eliot immediately came to the barred window to watch him work. “Honestly? I figured you were gonna leave me to rot.”

“Honestly?” Sam replied, glancing up at him, “I almost did.”

  


_Wonders never cease, and all that,_ Eliot thought as Sam popped the lock on his cell door and opened it. “We’ve gotta find Dean,” Eliot said. “Two guys dragged him past my door about half an hour ago.”

“How many charms did they leave you?” Sam asked as the two of them jogged down the hall together.

“Everything,” Eliot said. “They took the weapons, but nothing else.”

Sam looked visibly relieved at the news. “Still got the anti-possession charm?” Off Eliot’s quick nod, he grinned. “Good. Means I won’t have to kill you.”

Eliot snorted. Dean’s brother or no, he’d long passed the point where he wanted to teach Sam Winchester the stupidity of underestimating him. _Job. Work the job._ He could vent his frustrations on the younger man later – assuming they all survived.

When they reached a third corridor, the sound of a woman screaming reached their ears. “Faith?” Eliot asked, glancing at Sam for confirmation.

He shook his head. “Come on.”

When they reached the cell where the screaming was coming from, Sam checked the grille first – blocking Eliot’s view of the scene inside. More screams rent the air, accompanied by wetter, thicker sounds. This close, Eliot had already figured out for himself the victim was Meg. His brain tasted the idea that demons could be tortured, and immediately spat it out as being too much to handle.

What he hadn’t expected as they burst into the room was that he would know the torturer as well as the victim. Christian Campbell – Sam and Dean’s cousin, and the man who’d driven he and Faith away from the Djinn hunt what seemed like a lifetime ago, was facing Eliot and Sam. His eyes were a flat, uniform black. _Demon possession,_ Eliot realized, his brain helpfully supplying the information from Bobby’s files.

Sam only hesitated a moment before rushing Christian; his built-up momentum carried the other man into the nearest wall. Eliot couldn’t see what Sam was doing, but a moment later Christian went rigid – howling in agony. Light strobed out of his body, and he collapsed to the floor.

Eliot forced himself to keep moving, shifting his attention to Meg. She was nude and covered in blood, but he couldn’t see any evidence of actual injury. He worked her gag free first, then set to unstrapping her from the table.

“Chivalry,” she purred. “How quaint.”

Sam turned away from his kill. “You still in this?” he asked Meg.

Eliot glanced up to see Meg’s eyes turn the same flat, uniform black that Christian’s had. “Sammy boy, you have no idea how ready I am to fight. You boys have better left me something to play with.”

Sam snorted. “Oh, don’t worry. Crowley already knows we’re coming.”

  


Dean stumbled when his guards threw him in the room, but managed to stay on his feet. He pivoted immediately – not wanting to leave them at his back a second longer than he had to, but the ghouls were already backing out of the room. If it hadn’t already been for the fact that his surroundings looked like a setting for the rape scene in every cheesy prison flick he’d ever seen, the grins they were flashing as they locked him in would have clinched it.

 _Well, fuck._ If Crowley wasn’t intending to finish him outright, the little bastard obviously meant to deliver some serious pain. Dean could appreciate the demon’s sense of showmanship; he briefly wondered if Crowley wasn’t holed up somewhere, watching what was about to unfold on closed circuit television.

“Choke on it, asshole,” he muttered, scanning every inch of the room he could see for signs of the monster he would need to face. _Whatever you send after me’s gonna end up with a helluva case of heartburn before I’m done._

Dean had a prayer that was near and dear to his heart. That prayer was that someday his brain would actually engage _before_ his mouth.

Boot heels clicked sharply against the concrete slab. Dean pivoted to face whoever had suddenly appeared, and reality came crashing down around him.

“Faith.”

His heart sped up, seeing her for the first time in over a year, but caution kept him rooted in place. If he didn’t know in his gut it was too easy a solution, Dean would have sworn she was possessed.

“I’m _really_ gonna enjoy this,” she growled as she advanced on him – hands clenched into fists.

Shock and denial fatally slowed his responses. The back of Faith’s fist connected with the side of his face hard enough to snap his head violently to one side. She followed up with a flurry of blows that drove him back and down. Panicked, Dean struggled to defend himself long enough to get some distance between them.

He finally found an opening when Faith kicked him backwards. Dean managed to scramble around behind a metal table. “Faith – babe, come on…we don’t have to do this!”

There was no recognition in her dark eyes. No recognition and no hint of mercy.

 _She’s sick. Jesus._ He couldn’t fault Eliot for understating the truth. Spencer would have no way of knowing that what was wrong with Faith was far more than a physical illness, or even something “messing with her mind”.

Crowley had taken Faith’s psyche apart – removed everything that made her special and unique in the world and left behind only those parts that needed to kill almost more than she needed to breathe. _And I’m locked in here with her._

He supposed the best description of it was “poetic justice”, depending on whose side you were on. Either way it was almost elegant in its simplicity. Dean didn’t have enough information to be able to tell when Crowley had started his campaign to break Faith, but he’d been successful beyond anything Dean could have imagined. What faced him now was something he’d heard hinted at over the years, but never really believed was possible.

_Not anymore._

It was a basic kill-or-be killed scenario. Faith was stronger than he was, better trained, and didn’t have the handicap of their emotional connection holding her back. Not like he did.

She lunged for him again, and this time Dean let himself react. The blow she landed on his ribs was met with an answering punch that took her built-up momentum and drove her straight to the concrete floor. Breathing hard against the bloom of pain in his side, Dean pivoted away from her, trying to put as much distance between them as he could.

His heart sank as Faith rolled and leapt to her feet. Blood was streaming from several fresh cuts, but as far as Dean could tell he hadn’t slowed her down at all.

  


_Fuck._

  


_Spill enough blood, and the screaming will stop._ The voice in her head had been right. Faith struck out again and again, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief as her knuckles and feet connected with human flesh. _This is who you are._

When he switched from his feeble attempts to defend himself to fighting back, Faith almost laughed. Every cut, every bruise, was an anchor that kept her firmly rooted in her body. Without the pain, she would have simply faded away.

Faith never doubted that she would kill the man in front of her. It didn’t matter who he was, or what he’d done. His death would stop the screaming in her head, the conflict that driven her for so long. It would be simple – clean. The first thing in far too long that made sense.

_This is all you are._

Faith caught her opponent with a kick to the face and he finally went down; his center of gravity overwhelming his stubborn determination to stay on his feet. Catching up with him, she kicked him again. He cried out, coughing and curling onto his side.

Smiling with satisfaction, Faith rested her booted foot lightly on the man’s neck. She would lean forward, putting all her weight into the death blow. His spine would snap, and she would be free.

Before she could make the move, her arms were pinned, and she was hauled backwards away from her kill. “Faith, stop!” Whoever had grabbed her threw her across the floor. She recovered as quickly as she could – rolling with the movement and coming up in a crouch.

A man’s heavy forearm was suddenly wrapped around her throat, pinning her windpipe in the crook of an elbow. “Stay down.” The voice in her ear was dark and intense, but it wasn’t strong enough to overcome her need to finish the job.

Her throat tightened as pressure was applied. Faith struggled to draw breath. Another arm went around her chest, pulling her back against her assailant. “Let it go, Faith. Come on.”

Red and purple spots exploded in her vision, followed by a softer blackness as her muscles went limp and she fell unconscious.

“Sorry,” was the last thing she heard before true darkness descended.

  


_How? How did this happen?_ Dean’s mind was racing, trying to make sense of Faith attacking him and the fight that followed. Everything they meant to each other, and he hadn’t seen any hint of recognition in her eyes.

He hadn’t thought he had any illusions about who Faith was. She’d told him all the stories in the years they’d all ridden and hunted together. He’d seen the darkness in her when she killed monsters, and when things had gone so wrong between her and Sam around the time Sam had freed Lucifer from his prison.

All of that piled together had only hinted at the darkness he’d seen in her as she tried to kill him.

Dean finally tried to get to his feet and immediately cried out in pain – clutching his side. On top of his other injuries, she’d cracked his ribs – possibly broken them.

Sam was at his side immediately. “Let me see.” Clenching his jaw against the pain, Dean held up a hand. Grimacing, Sam helped him to his feet – supporting him as best he could. “Ribs?” he asked as Dean leaned into him and tried to make the world stop spinning.

He nodded, taking in the scene in front of them. Faith was lying on the floor, unconscious. Eliot was kneeling at her side, checking her vitals. Spencer finally looked up and nodded at Dean – mouthing the word “alive”.

 _All right, then._ Dean glanced at Meg, who grinned at him. “Ready to party Dean-o?”

 _Sam’s soul._ Dean wanted to party. He wanted to capture Crowley and reduce him to something desperate and pleading on the concrete floor for what he’d done to Faith. _It was deliberate._ He’d undone a lifetime of work on Faith’s part to contain her inner demons, and he’d done it to turn her against Dean.

 _Eye on the ball._ Sam needed him. Finding Sam’s soul overrode every other concern right now. “Let’s go,” he said, looking at Meg.

  


She was breathing. Her pulse was strong, but faster than he would have liked. Eliot eased himself to a sitting position, pressing his back against the wall. His body was already protesting, but as far as he could tell he’d gotten away with bruises and some shallow cuts.

 _You were lucky._ If he was any judge, Dean was going to need a hospital once this was all over. Eliot marveled that the man was still on his feet – he’d gotten more than he wanted of Faith’s strength and determination in the few short minutes it took to render her unconscious. Dean was still moving, though – watching Sam draw out a Devil’s Trap on the ceiling and talking in low tones to Meg.

 _She would have killed him._ He’d seen enough before Sam tackled Faith to understand that much perfectly. _What the hell are we going to do about you?_ Without thinking, Eliot reached out to brush Faith’s hair back off her forehead. She convulsed away from his touch, screaming in pain.

“Faith?” Dean was there immediately, crouching down on her other side. “Babe?” His hand was pressed to his ribs, and his breathing was labored, but he seemed determined to ignore his own injuries in favor of his concern about Faith.

“I just touched her,” Eliot said, inching back. “Skin to skin – I swear.”

Dean glanced up at him. “You didn’t do anything. This is part of whatever crap Crowley pulled.” Slipping a hand into his pocket, he drew out Faith’s ring and held it up for Eliot to see. “I’m hoping you read the situation right, and he made this part of the spell.” Picking up Faith’s left hand, Dean slid the ring onto her fourth finger.

Eliot couldn’t have said exactly what changed from one moment to the next, beyond that fact that Faith was physically able to tolerate Dean’s touch. He just knew something was different about the fallen Slayer.

“You see it too, right?” Dean asked, looking up at him for confirmation. Eliot nodded. Dean exhaled softly. “Good.”

“Dean?” Sam called. They both looked across the room at him. “We’re ready.”

  


 

**Chapter Fifteen**

Dean stared numbly at the spot where a moment before Crowley had been on the verge of completely flipping their script. They’d been stupid, sending Meg into the Devil’s Trap to finish Crowley off – thinking him broken and useless. The King of Hell had overpowered Meg, using Ruby’s Knife to break his way out of the prison.

 _”I believe I was in the process of getting rid of you,”_ Crowley had said, using Meg as a shield as he closed in on where he’d thrown Dean against the wall.

Dean couldn’t help glancing across the room, to where Eliot still guarded Faith. Crowley smiled over Meg’s shoulder.

_Don’t worry, Dean. Whatever you think you did, she’s still more mine than yours._

Castiel had shown up then, before Crowley could make good on his threat. After confirming that Sam’s soul wasn’t in the demon’s power to retrieve, Cas had destroyed him by immolating his bones. With Crowley defeated, Meg had wasted no time in making good her escape.

Dean looked across at his brother. He knew Sam was already worrying over the news that his soul was likely damaged beyond repair by its time in Lucifer’s Cage, and that its recovery could be the worst thing that ever happened to him. _And when you’re talking about our lives…_

“You’re hurt.” Cas had moved to his side. Before Dean could say anything, the angel reached out and touched Dean on the forehead. He felt the same swooping sensation he’d come to associate with Cas’ previous attempts at healing him; when it cleared Dean found he could move and breathe without effort.

“Thanks,” he said. “Can you do anything for Faith?”

Obviously troubled by the question, Cas shook his head. “Slayer powers are demonic,” he said. “If I try to break a spell laid by a demon on one who is herself essentially a demon…”

 _You’ll kill her._ Dean’s heart sank. “Can you at least tell when he set the damn thing? Or why?”

Castiel looked across at Eliot and Faith. “Likely as far back as when he brought her and Sam out of the Cage. He seems to have been playing what you call a ‘long game’ this time.”

Sam joined them. “She was Crowley’s ultimate weapon,” he said, looking at Dean. “He drove her crazy and then aimed her straight at you.”

Dean winced, remembering the beating he’d taken at Faith’s hands. “If you and Eliot hadn’t shown up when you did, it would have worked.” He looked into Sam’s eyes. “Thanks.”

  


Reality bled back in around Faith, slow and thick. She was lying on a dirty concrete floor in a room she didn’t recognize. Eliot was sitting next to her, his back pressed to the wall and a sawed off shotgun across his drawn-up knees.

She was herself again, and the more that fact sank in, the more Faith found herself questioning whether that was a good thing. “Eliot?”

He flinched, obviously startled by her having spoken. “Hey there,” he said, his expression softening as their eyes met. “Do me a favor and don’t try to get up just yet, okay?” Pushing himself to his feet, he signaled somebody outside of Faith’s immediate line of sight.

A moment later, Dean was kneeling at her side. “You don’t call, you don’t write…” The jibe fell flat, but she appreciated the effort. A tear traced the line of his cheek; he brushed it away with a distracted gesture.

Faith tried to reach out to him, but everything was still thick and heavy around her, and her muscles didn’t seem to be entirely under her control. Dean caught her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. “Don’t try to move too much, babe,” he said, his expression suddenly telling her how serious the situation was. “We’re still not sure what’s going on with you.”

“Tired,” she murmured, closing her eyes. Something seemed to be pulling her under, dragging away those things that made her Faith. _You were strong without the other stuff. It was simple when all you had to do was kill._

Faith registered the press of Dean’s lips against her temple, but it was disconnected – almost as if it was happening to somebody else. “It’s a spell,” he whispered. “Don’t try to fight it – we don’t know exactly what Crowley did or the best way to break it.”

“You’re an angel,” she heard Eliot say. “Can’t you do something?” Mention of Castiel was a jolt of energy that seemed to cut through the fog. Faith opened her eyes in time to see Dean wince, and knew immediately what the answer to Spencer’s question was.

“It’s the Slayer thing, isn’t it?” she asked. Dean nodded, his expression stricken. Faith laughed weakly. “Ironic.”

“Faith’s powers are demonic in origin,” Sam explained, for Eliot’s benefit. “Angels only know one way to ‘cure’ demons.”

“Pass,” Faith said immediately. Eliot looked down at her, and she saw a stubborn determination in his eyes.

“Then we find another way,” he said. “I refuse to believe this is an all or nothing deal. I don’t know as much about this crap as you guys, but from what I saw this Crowley didn’t seem to be the kind to give up an advantage. He wouldn’t waste somebody as valuable as Faith on a one shot hope of killing Dean. There has to be some way to undo what he did.”

“You overestimate her value to somebody like Crowley,” Cas said. “Slayers are historically more trouble than they’re worth.”

  


Dean glanced at Sam. From Cas’ perspective the statement was true enough – it was just a little too “party line” for Dean’s taste. _Especially when it’s Faith he’s talking about,_ he thought, remembering the last time an angel had made a similar observation.

 _What the fuck am I going to do?_ he thought, looking down at Faith again. If it was a spell and Crowley had laid it…

“Take her back to Bobby’s?” Sam suggested.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dean looked up at him. “It’s a place to start.”

He insisted on carrying Faith himself. Cas agreed to stay behind and do what he could to neutralize the monsters in Crowley’s prison. Dean knew he should have felt guilty asking the angel to help them deal with something he and Sam could have handled on their own, but he couldn’t think past his worries for the woman in his arms and the man at his side.

“He could have taken her to Bobby’s for us, you know,” Sam said, once they were out of earshot. He had put himself close on Dean’s right, gun out and ready for any surprises that might be left in the crumbling building. Eliot was watching their back.

Dean shook his head. “I’m not letting her out of my sight any longer than absolutely necessary.”

  


_A spell._ It was hard for Eliot to wrap his brain around. A year ago he would have said they were all nuts and driven Faith to a doctor himself.

Faith was unconscious again; as far as Eliot could tell, they’d lost her somewhere along their route out of Crowley’s monster prison. Dean had settled her in the backseat of the Impala with a gentleness that told Eliot exactly how important Faith was to him. He’d wondered in the months since Dean had come into his life how he could have loved Faith enough to marry her and then willingly been parted from her for as long as he had.

Now he could see the whole situation was much more complicated than he could have ever imagined.

Sam and Dean were arguing. _”We’ll figure something out,”_ Dean had said once Faith was settled, obviously trying to reassure Sam on the question of recovering his soul. The words had been a match dropped in dry brush; Sam had clearly made up his mind, and his conclusion didn’t agree with Dean’s opinion at all. Eliot thought a couple of times about joining the discussion, but ultimately decided to stay where he was. There was too much subtext going on, and he was pretty sure of his belief that Dean wouldn’t appreciate his interference.

“And you chose to tie yourself to those two?” he asked, looking down at Faith. Instinct told him she was already losing whatever ground she’d gained by Dean returning her ring. _Whatever they think we can do, we need to do it soon._

He glanced up just in time to see Dean coming towards him. Sam was nowhere in sight. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where’d Sam go?”

Dean’s attention shifted briefly to Faith before returning to look at Eliot. “We need to hit the road,” he said. “Sam…” Dean shook his head. “He’s not thinking straight. Listen Eliot, I need a favor. I know I’ve got no right to ask after everything that’s happened.”

Eliot shrugged. “So don’t ask. I’ll make sure you two get back to Bobby’s in one piece.” He paused. “You have to do one thing for me first.”

Dean obviously had no clue what he was hinting at. “Name it.”

Eliot folded his arms across his chest. “Take your shirt off.”

  


“You had at least three cracked ribs when we pulled Faith off you,” Eliot elaborated. “I want to see for myself what happened.”

“Cas healed me,” Dean said. He drew an exaggerated breath to illustrate. “See? Everything works the way it’s supposed to.”

Eliot clearly wasn’t swayed by either the explanation or the demonstration. “You’ve got two choices, Dean,” he said. “You can show me you’re 100%, or you can sit your ass down and I can drive you to the hospital to get checked out.”

Realizing that winning this particular argument would take time they really didn’t have, Dean stripped off his shirt and held his arms away from his body. “Satisfied?”

Eliot blinked, obviously surprised to see the smooth, unblemished skin along the right side of his body. He looked at Dean again, obviously asking permission to come closer. Rolling his eyes, Dean put his hands on top of his head. “Be my guest.”

“Your family needs you, Dean,” Eliot said as he closed the distance between them. “Personally I don’t give a shit about Sam. Nobody’s proven to me one way or the other that he’s missing his soul.” He ran a hand across Dean’s ribs, fingers expertly tracing the lines of the bones.

Dean cut him off. “You don’t have to believe me – it’s the truth.” He swallowed hard, looking up at the sky overhead and praying that Eliot wouldn’t figure out that his heart rate had suddenly doubled.

“Okay, fine. Whatever,” Eliot said, finishing his examination and stepping back so they could see each other again. “What I _can_ see is that you and Faith both need help. I can help you.” He glanced in the back seat of the Impala. “I can’t help her, but I’m betting you can. And you won’t be able to if you start playing Rambo.”

Dean lowered his arms. “Fair enough.” He smiled bitterly. “You’re a pretty handy guy to have around.”

Eliot let the comment slide. “What’re we doing about Sam?”

Dean blinked, forcing back sudden tears of frustration. “I’m gonna get his soul back for him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about – it’s the right thing to do.”

“And Faith? Do you really think we’ll be able to break this spell, or whatever it is?”

Dean glanced in the back seat of the Impala, exhaling sharply. “I understand why Cas took Crowley out, but honestly I wish we’d had more time.” He looked back at Eliot. “We did this ass backwards, and if you want the truth I’m scared to death she’s gonna pay for it.”

  


Eliot couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone so emotionally devastated and still determined to keep moving forward. He studied Dean, struggling against unexpected feelings of his own.

“Don’t.” Dean’s green eyes were suddenly over-bright. Eliot’s chest tightened as he realized what he was seeing in his friend’s face had nothing to do with Sam _or_ Faith. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

Eliot held his gaze. “Like what?” he asked gently.

Dean drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I can’t,” he said. “I want to – you probably don’t even know how much I want to – but it’s too much. Sam…Faith…”

Acutely aware now of just how fragile the man in front of him was, Eliot pressed the tips of his fingers against Dean’s lips. “Stop.”

The two friends stared at each other for a long moment, a silence so thick with subtext and emotion Eliot thought he might choke on it. He gently traced the swell of Dean’s lower lip with the calloused pad of his thumb. Dean shivered under his touch.

“I’m not an asshole, Dean,” Eliot said finally. “I see everything you’re dealing with. Fuck man – I don’t even know how you’re sane. I wouldn’t be.” He paused, dropping his hand along the curve of Dean’s jaw. “You weren’t even supposed to be more than a three month job to me.”

  


“And now?” Dean whispered, his voice cracked and broken. Eliot noticed that he wasn’t pulling away.

“Now?” he said, “Now, I’ve got your back until Sam and Faith are on their feet again.” He tipped Dean’s face up and kissed him; firm press of lips, with a hint of stubble sharpening the softness. Eliot thought he might have heard Dean make a small, needy sound low in his throat, but he didn’t resist when Eliot stepped back and looked into his eyes again.

“Anything beyond that can wait until you’re ready. Ball’s in your court.”


	5. The Thickening of Fear

**Chapter Sixteen**

They arrived at Bobby’s at close to midnight on the following day, with Faith never having regained consciousness. Dean carried her into the house himself, taking her straight upstairs. Bobby and Eliot retreated to the kitchen – leaving them alone.

Free to feel his own exhaustion at last, Eliot collapsed into a chair. He took the beer Bobby held out to him, raising an eyebrow at the old hunter when he saw it was open already. “Spiked?”

“That a problem?” Bobby’s expression gave nothing away. Sighing, Eliot tipped the bottle up and took a long swallow.

“If you’re going to be watering down perfectly good beer,” he said, lowering the bottle and glaring at the hunter, “you could at least pick a brand that’s more than a half-step away from water to begin with.”

 _That_ got him a laugh.

“You know they’re likely gonna be awhile,” Bobby said once Eliot had looked towards the staircase for a third time. “It’s a complicated situation, and that girl’s in a world of hurt.”

Eliot sighed. “I’d say you have no idea, but I’m guessing you probably do.” He took another swallow of his beer, remembering how drastically Faith’s physical condition had deteriorated. “She’s not gonna make it, is she?”

Bobby shrugged, looking morose. “Hard to say, until we figure out what this spell is that Crowley supposedly put on her.” He took a pull off his beer. “Kid, you gotta remember something. Faith isn’t human – not really.”

“What does that even mean, Bobby?” Openly frustrated, Eliot set his bottle down with a thump. “Okay, magic and monsters are real – I’ve seen enough by now to give you that. And Faith is strong – she’s obviously well trained. She’s human though. As human as you or me. I’d stake my life on it.”

“She’s a Slayer,” Bobby countered. “I’m not gonna argue the semantics with you; I’m trying to tell you that out of all the people currently under this roof Faith has the best chance of surviving whatever’s going on.”

  


Dean had lain down with Faith, once they were alone – spooning himself against her back and wrapping his arms around her. Even though time was desperately against them, he couldn’t resist taking a few minutes to breathe in the reality of having her back while he tried to figure out what to do next.

 _”We need information.”_ Bobby had been adamant on that point. _”We don’t have a prayer – pardon the expression – of solving either one of these clusterfucks without more to go on. We don’t know anything about what happened down in the Cage. Sam doesn’t remember, for better or worse. He said Faith does.”_

“Faith.” Dean kissed her shoulder. “Babe, come on. We need to talk.” After a moment, he bit her lightly on the back of the neck. “Wake up, Faith.”

After a moment she shifted sluggishly in his embrace. Dean moved back, helping her roll over until they could see each other. “Dean?” she asked, obviously confused by his presence and her surroundings.

“Yeah,” he said, kissing her gently on the forehead. “It’s me. You’re home. You’re safe.”

He could see the wheels turning as she struggled to process what he was saying, balancing it with the evidence of her own eyes. Finally she drew a shuddering breath and looked at him again. “Still feel like crap.”

Dean swallowed against a lump in his throat. “I know. It’s the spell. We’re trying to figure out how to break it, but Bobby says we need more information. _Please don’t make me do this,_ he prayed. Their first moments alone together in God only knew how long shouldn’t have been him grilling her for information in order to possibly save her life.

“Faith,” he said finally, forcing the words out, “Sam told us you remember everything that happened to you guys. In the Cage.”

He didn’t miss the tiny flash of anger in her eyes when he mentioned Sam, but that was a fight for another day. Finally, she nodded. “My time sense gets a little…twisty…in places, but I’ve got the important stuff.” She paused, eyeing him doubtfully. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

Point of fact he didn’t, but Dean was through with people protecting him. “Talk,” he said.

Faith squeezed her eyes shut briefly, and Dean could see her struggling to find the words to answer him. “I tried to draw their fire,” she whispered hoarsely.

“I knew I could take more damage,” she said, when she looked at him again. “I yelled, I screamed – anything I could think of to make them forget about Sam.”

“What did they do to you?”

“He was so scared, Dean,” she said. Tears were falling freely now, making her dark eyes shine. “They hurt him so bad. You don’t know…”

Dean shook his head, hitching himself up on one elbow. “No. I don’t want to hear about Sam – tell me about what happened to you.”

Faith froze, her eyes widening. “What did you say?”

Dean blinked, momentarily confused by the question. “We’ll deal with Sam later,” he said. “Right now I want to know what happened to you.”

  


It was like being able to draw a deep breath after struggling against a huge weight for an impossibly long time. “Michael liked using fire,” Faith said at last, and the words came so easily she almost cried with relief. “One time Lucifer held my head and made me watch while Michael burned my hand from the fingers to the wrist. Slow flame.” She shuddered. “It was this sick, building ache that seemed to go on forever. I threw up when they were about half-done.”

“And then they’d heal you?” Dean prompted.

Smiling sadly, Faith shook her head. “Not until they took the entire body apart.” She paused. “Not until they took _me_ apart.”

She realized as she continued talking that she was starting to feel better. Dean listened patiently to all of it, asking an occasional question, and redirecting her when she stopped talking about her own experiences.

“Sam kept arguing with me about it,” she said finally, “but he knew he couldn’t take the kind of punishment they were dishing out. Not like I could.”

“But eventually they stopped working you over?”

Faith shrugged, memory of _that_ argument between the brothers blossoming in her mind. “Michael said I didn’t scream loud enough.” She snorted. “I bored him.”

“Dick,” Dean growled.

“Yeah,” she sighed. “After that, they made me watch while they took out their frustrations on Sam.”

  


The two of them talked for nearly an hour. The more information that bled out of Faith, the more her overall appearance improved, until Dean impulsively surged forward and kissed her. After a moment of surprise, Faith flung her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back.

“So,” she said, once their lips parted. “No more spell?”

Dean’s smile was large and genuine. “I think so.” He laughed. “That cagey bastard.”

Faith’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

His expression softened. Dean reached out and caressed her cheek; marveling at how quickly her color and energy had returned. _We did it._ He was certain they’d broken Crowley’s spell, and he was even more certain as to how.

“I don’t even know why it occurred to me,” he said. “Death sent me a message a while back. Told me you and Sam were still alive, and ‘nobody remembers to ask the caretaker how they’re doing’.”

Faith was quiet for a long moment. “You knew we’d gotten out? Dean…”

He shook his head, chest tightening against a sudden spike of emotion. “Don’t. You can’t hate me anymore than I’m hating myself right now.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Originally it was too painful to believe. After Sam saved me from the Djinn, I figured this was another situation where I needed to be patient and wait for you to be ready to come home.” A tear spilled down his own cheek.

“By the time I realized how wrong I was it was too late.”

  


Once he’d convinced Eliot to go to bed, Bobby went to his library and started researching the problem of Sam’s soul. Breaking the spell on Faith was arguably the more immediate problem, but the little information he’d gotten from Eliot on the girl’s situation wasn’t enough for him to even know where to start.

It was nearly three o’clock in the morning when Dean finally shambled downstairs. “Figured you’d passed out up there,” Bobby said.

Dean grabbed himself a glass and poured his own whiskey from the bottle Bobby had been making his way through. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” Inexplicably he chuckled.

“You start laughing when things are this dire,” Bobby warned, “people start looking for the hug me jackets.”

“Believe me,” Dean said, taking a large swallow of alcohol, “I know exactly how dire they are. But,” He set the glass down and settled back in his chair, “we caught a break.”

“We did?” Bobby asked. “Where the hell was I?”

“I broke Crowley’s spell.”

That, Bobby hadn’t expected to hear. “You?”

Dean snorted. “You guys always sound surprised when I pull off some magical shit. Yes, me.”

“Sorry,” Bobby countered, “It’s just…never mind. How? What did you do?”

“I talked to her. Asked her how she was feeling. Got her to share everything that happened to her.” His expression clouded. “It’s a little frightening to think it was that simple.”

Bobby considered the situation, and all the participants. “Crowley’s a crafty sonofabitch. He knows we’d be looking for the big, showy fix to everything. It makes a twisted sort of sense.”

Dean was quiet for a moment. “What you’re saying is that it’s easy to assume I’d be an insensitive asshole.”

“You’re not exactly Mr. Oprah when it comes to sharing and caring,” Bobby felt obligated to point out. “Okay, so that’s one problem off our very long list. Any thoughts on Sam’s soul?”

“Actually,” Dean said, “I know exactly where to start with that.”

  


The Impala was packed, and Dean was waiting by the time Eliot stumbled downstairs the next morning. “We need to talk,” he said, passing Spencer a cup of coffee.

“How’s Faith?” Eliot asked, reaching automatically for sugar and cream.

Dean smiled, remembering the hour of sleep he’d gotten curled up next to his wife. “She’s going to be okay, believe it or not. I figured out how to break Crowley’s spell.” Before Eliot could ask any more questions, he hurried on. “I also have a lead on recovering Sam’s soul.”

Eliot brightened immediately. “What can I do to help?”

Sobering, Dean sighed. “I need you to play bodyguard here. I need somebody I can trust to keep an eye on Bobby and Faith while I’m gone. Faith is getting better, but I’m still worried. Bobby…”

“Dean,” Eliot interjected. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but…”

“I don’t need your monster fighting ability,” Dean said, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Anything supernatural comes around, Bobby can handle it.” He paused, the real reason for his request looming large in his mind. “It’s Sam.”

Dean had to remind himself that Eliot had every reason for the flash of distaste that crossed his expression at the mention of Sam. His experience was extremely limited, and extremely biased by circumstances beyond their control. “Sam doesn’t want his soul back.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Eliot said. “You’re afraid he’d going to try and stop you?”

Dean grimaced. “Yes, but not the way you think. Bobby and I did some research last night. There are…” He paused, trying to choose his words carefully. The possibilities Bobby had unearthed for Sam to make returning his soul impossible were each more horrific than the last. “...ways for Sam to stop me from doing this. I need somebody I can trust to protect Bobby and Faith if he decides coming after them is the best way to do it.”

Eliot was silent for a long moment. Finally he said, “I’ve got no problem protecting them, Dean. But I’ve spent a lot of time getting to know you, and I’m pretty sure you’re also telling me I can’t kill your brother.”

Dean had known the issue was going to come up, and had spent a long time working out what he was going to say when Eliot asked. “I need you to protect Faith and Bobby,” he repeated, “but if Sam dies, please believe I will hunt you down.” He looked up – meeting the other man’s blue eyes without flinching. “You can walk away. No hard feelings. I know I’m not being reasonable, but you’re the only person I know who can do this for me.”

  


_Scar the vessel._

The bitch of it was that Sam completely understood where Dean was coming from – his desperation to get his brother back. The problem was that Dean wasn’t the one facing a potential future locked inside his own head. Cas’ description of what Sam could look forward to in the event his damaged soul was returned was one of the few things that had genuinely scared him since waking up in Stoll Cemetery eighteen months ago.

Balthazar had made the point that a biological connection wasn’t necessary for Sam to do what needed to be done. It had given him an out, presented Bobby as the logical sacrifice – but Sam had driven to South Dakota with the awareness that sacrificing Dean would have done the job even more effectively looming large in his mind. As a result, although he knew Dean packing the Impala meant he was getting ready to make a move against Sam’s wishes, Sam was grateful to see him leave.

Even if it meant Dean never speaking to him again, Sam wasn’t sure he could take the step of killing his brother. Taking a knife to Bobby was about as far as he believed he could go.

Once the rumble of the Impala’s engine had faded in the distance, Sam started a slow, careful recon of the property. He spotted Eliot in the kitchen, confirming that Dean at least suspected what Sam was planning to do. There was no other reasonable explanation for leaving Eliot behind; even as sick as Faith had been, Bobby was more than capable of defending the Slayer.

Faith herself was in their bedroom. Sam stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her sleep. _I wonder if they broke Crowley’s spell?_ Whether they had or not, Sam had to admit the woman in front of him was a far cry from the nightmare vision he’d last seen. Her skin was almost glowing in the light streaming in from the window.

While he was marveling at the change in her condition, Faith suddenly stirred in her sleep. Adrenaline lanced through him, sending Sam across the hall into an empty room. He waited there, crouched behind the door, for two counts of ten while he listened to see if Faith had gone back to sleep.

When he was satisfied she hadn’t really woken up, Sam continued his survey of the house. Looking out the window of Bobby’s bedroom, he saw the hunter was busy in his workshop. Sam sighed in relief, deciding to try an end run around Dean’s attempts at protecting the people he’d left behind.

As long as Eliot saw Faith as the more important target, there would be no need for Sam to take on the extra effort of another fight. It was going to be hard enough taking Bobby out as it was – the hunter wasn’t going to go quietly.

“Much as I’d enjoy teaching Spencer a lesson,” Sam muttered.

  


Chapter Seventeen

Dean had been gone for a little over an hour when Faith screamed. Eliot had just come in from checking on Bobby, and was getting a soda from the refrigerator. The hunter had all but thrown Eliot bodily out of his workshop, declaring he “didn’t need no damn babysitter”.

Fumbling the can onto the counter, Eliot raced for the stairs. Grabbing onto the bannister, he leapt the first three steps, and then glanced up to see Faith had appeared at the top of the staircase.

His death grip on the bannister was the only thing that kept Eliot from falling; what he saw was so far outside the realm of his experience that he wondered for a fraction of a second if he’d lost his mind.

Faith’s body was wreathed in a halo of brilliant white light. While Eliot was trying to process what he was seeing, the light flared for a single heartbeat – bright enough that he was forced to shield his eyes. When he could see again, Faith was half-collapsed against the nearby wall.

Heedless of the possible danger, Eliot raced up the rest of the stairs and threw himself down beside her. “What’s happening?”

She was shaking uncontrollably as she looked up at him. “Sam…” she croaked. “We have to find him.” Eliot tried to reach out and steady her, but recoiled from the heat that was rolling off her skin. A second attempt was more successful, but his best estimate put her body temperature at well over one hundred and five degrees.

 _How is she even conscious?_ Bobby had insisted that her being a Slayer meant she was able to survive things that would have killed and ordinary human like him. _But this?_ Eliot wondered how much further his mind could be stretched before it would snap completely.

Another pulse of brilliant light made him shield his eyes again. “Sam ran off,” he said, once the flash had faded. “He and Dean argued about…” He paused, still not sure how on board with all of this he was. “…about his soul. He doesn’t want it back.”

Faith shook her head, gripping Eliot’s arm and trying to stand. “He doesn’t get to make that choice,” she growled. “He’s close. I can feel him.”

Unwilling to let her brave the stairs, Eliot swept her into his arms and carried her down to the sofa. “I’ve gotta get Bobby,” he said. “He’s outside in his shed.” Mentally he was berating himself for letting Singer dictate to him; they’d both assumed that Sam would make his first try for Faith as the easier target.

“Mr. Singer is fine.”

Eliot spun with a yelp, startled to realize they weren’t alone anymore. An impossibly old man, wearing a trim black suit, stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the library. Eliot started to challenge the newcomer’s presence, but the words died in his throat. _I know you._

He watched, transfixed, as Death went to Faith’s side; finding his voice only when the old man reached out to touch her. “Please…don’t…”

Obviously intrigued, Death turned slowly towards him. “Please?”

Eliot realized with a start that he was crying. “Please don’t take her.” They couldn’t be this close to figuring everything out and lose Faith – Eliot didn’t know if Dean would survive it.

He didn’t know if _he_ would survive it.

Turning back to Faith, Death pressed a hand to her forehead. She cried out, back bowing against the cushions, but after a moment Eliot realized his touch was giving her some relief. Her breathing eased, some of the tension bled out of her muscles, and the impossible light faded to a merely discernable glow on the surface of her skin.

Before Eliot could say anything, Death straightened. “Very respectful,” he said, nodding his approval. “And you know who I am – I must say, Mr. Spencer, I’m impressed.”

Eliot swallowed. He did know this presence – had known it his entire adult life. He just wasn’t sure how he felt about being faced with the physical manifestation of the metaphorical concept. “I think they call us old friends,” he said finally. “How did you touch Faith without killing her?”

Death glanced at Faith, and Eliot shuddered seeing a small smile on his face. “The Slayers are my children – agents of Death on this Earth. Faith is my favorite.”

Eliot definitely wasn’t sure what to do with that information. _Work the job._ “You said Bobby’s okay?”

Death nodded. “They very nearly waited too long, but the pieces are all finally in place.”

The door burst open then – Dean and Bobby, supporting an unconscious, bloody Sam between them. “Eliot!” Dean snapped. Eliot went immediately to them, and Dean transferred his half of Sam’s weight. “Get him downstairs; help Bobby secure him.”

As Eliot and Bobby moved towards the cellar stairs, Eliot heard Dean tell Death, “So – I guess I know why _you’re_ here.”

  


Once Dean had returned Death’s ring, he went to the couch to check on Faith. Something had changed; she was burning up – covered in sweat and looking almost worse than she had while under Crowley’s spell.

She reached out for him – gripping her arm at the elbow, Dean helped her sit up. “Crowley…?” he asked.

Faith shook her head. “Sam.”

Completely confused, Dean looked at Death. “What the hell?”

To his amazement, Death ignored him completely, sketching a shallow bow to Faith. “We are running out of time, child – are you finally ready to finish what you started?” Dean looked back at Faith, but she seemed just as confused as he felt.

It finally hit him in a painful burst of realization. “Nobody ever asks the caretaker how they’re doing,” he repeated, looking at Death for confirmation. “Sam’s soul?”

He imagined he actually saw the hint of a smile on the old man’s face. “It is an impressive bit of magic – even more for the circumstances under which it was performed. Sam’s soul resides in Faith’s body.”

“Wait just a goddamn minute,” Dean said, holding up a hand. “Are you saying _Sam and Faith_ did this?”

“What about Crowley?” Faith croaked. She wiped at the sweat on her forehead with the back of one shaking hand.

Death shook his head. “The demon was bluffing. He assumed the soul was left behind – he never bothered to verify its location.”

Dean looked at Faith. “Does anything he’s saying make sense? Do you remember any of it?”

Faith laughed bitterly. “It’s all soup in my head, Dean. I feel like if I move too fast, my brains are gonna start pouring out my ears.”

“Get it out,” Dean growled, turning back to Death. “You said…”

Death waved a negligent hand. “Relax, my boy. You did your part. You asked the right question. If Faith will stop and focus for a second, I believe she will find that she remembers what to do next.”

Dean looked back at his wife. The last thing he wanted to do was force her into a situation involving more pain, but he knew he’d be damned himself if he just sat here and watched her burning up from the inside. “You’ve gotta think, babe,” he said – willing her to access the knowledge Death seemed convinced she had. “Remember what you did. Remember how to reverse it.”

  


Faith realized she did know. “Take me to him.” Dean looked like he was about to argue with her, but finally he picked her up and carried her carefully down the stairs into Bobby’s cellar. Thanks to whatever Death had done to her, she was able to focus on the different energies warring inside her.

She felt Sam before Dean carried her into the panic room and set her on her feet at his bedside. Eliot and Bobby had strapped him down; when he saw her Sam redoubled his efforts to break free of his restraints.

 _In the Cage…doing her best to soothe Sam’s broken, bleeding body._ Faith realized she could remember freely now. Thanks to Dean breaking the spell Crowley had laid on her, she also had the words to bring those memories to life for everyone.

“They’d take you to the point of true Death,” she said, going to her knees at Sam’s bedside. “Leave you sobbing and broken in the dirt while they argued about God only knew what.”

_They’d have a short time of rest before the brothers would grow bored again. And if Faith couldn’t convince them to take their frustration out on her…_

Her body temperature was starting to rise again – her hair so heavy with sweat it was almost black. Droplets rolled across her skin, catching in the fabric of her clothes, dripping on the sheets, Sam’s skin…

“Faith.”

Still half caught in memory, she looked up at Dean. “I wasn’t even sure I could do it. He kept begging me to make them stop, and it was the only thing I could think to try.”

His green eyes were over-bright with unshed tears. “Faith it’s over. Put it back – whatever you have to do. Please – you’re killing yourself.” Dean’s hands were clenched into fists at his side – the skin over the knuckles dead-white. Faith sensed how much he was struggling to do as he’d been told and not interfere. Turning fresh knowledge over in her mind, she looked up at Death. “He needs to hold Sam,” she said. “While I do this. The magic is incomplete without all three of us in the mix; I have to balance everything back out.”

Death looked across at Dean. “As soon as it is finished, release your brother and I will build the wall to protect him from his memories.”

Sam was struggling like a wild animal now, heedless of his own safety. “Faith – no! Please, Faith – I know you don’t want me to stay like this, but _you_ know what they did to me! Don’t make me live through that!”

He was screaming, sobbing, but his pain didn’t hurt her anymore. Faith knew now what she was going to have to do for all of them. Dean crouched at Sam’s head, directly across from her. “Shh, Sammy,” he murmured, taking his brother’s shoulders and pressing Sam flat against the cot mattress again. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“Dean, no!” Sam was crying openly now. “You don’t understand…you can’t…you think you’re helping, but…” Before he could say anything further, Faith cupped his cheek with her hand and turned his head so that he was facing her.

“I’m not supposed to die for you, Sammy,” she said – her own eyes blurring with tears now. “Not up here. Not like this.”

Before he could say anything, she leaned forward and kissed him – breathing the fire that was threatening to consume her into his mouth. There was a moment of unbearable pressure and heat, and then Faith felt the shift – the excess energy starting to drain from her into Sam.

  


He fought her at first, but eventually he grew still under her touch. Faith continued kissing him – feeding him until the last of the fire slipped from her tongue to his.

  


_Please work. God, please work. Please…_ Dean wasn’t a man given to prayer, but as he struggled to keep Sam still – tears streaming down his own cheeks – he prayed with all his might.

She was so weak. If he’d been more of the dick everyone apparently believed him to be, they would have run out of time. Death had helped them as far as he could, but even though he seemed to have a sort of perverse affection for Faith Dean knew the old man would only go so far against the natural order.

 _“No. Tell me how_ you’re _doing.”_ God – Crowley had counted on no one asking after Faith’s emotional and physical well-being, and for a year and a half the sonofabitch had been right on the money.

Sam’s movements were gradually becoming less frantic; Dean couldn’t see a lot of detail from his place at Sam’s head, but he could feel the energy surrounding the three of them finally starting to wane. At the moment Sam went completely still beneath his hands, Faith let him go with a gasp of her own.

Remembering Death’s instructions, Dean let go of Sam and immediately moved into position behind Faith. Hugging her tight to his chest, he pulled her back away from the cot – not willing to risk her against whatever magic Death might be planning.

“Don’t you do that,” he muttered. She was boneless in his arms; he pressed a fierce kiss to her hair. “Don’t you fucking do something like that ever again.” Dean felt a slight ripple of tension through Faith’s shoulders, and sensed she was gathering herself to try and argue with him.

The moment passed. “Whatever you say,” she murmured before passing out again.

  



	6. Epilogue

Epilogue

Dean, Faith and Bobby seemed convinced that the transfer had been successful. The things he’d seen in Bobby’s basement, coupled with Faith’s almost miraculously rapid return to health was enough for Eliot to believe that _something_ had happened. Sam remained unconscious however, and as hours stretched into days Eliot knew he wasn’t the only one wondering if he would ever wake up.

“Regrets?” he asked Dean on the morning of the fourth day as the two of them stood on the porch, looking out at the yard. Eliot had announced at dinner the night before that it was time for him to head back to Boston. His truck was packed and waiting.

Dean shook his head. “I had to take the chance. That thing walking around for the last year or so? That wasn’t Sam.” He grinned ruefully. “I know you don’t believe me, but Sam wouldn’t have wanted to be that person.”

Eliot shrugged. “After everything I’ve seen, I will take your word for it.” He paused. “I still can’t believe Crowley’s spell turned out to be a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Bobby’s certain if it hadn’t been for Crowley’s spell holding what Faith and Sam did in check, Faith would have died months ago.” He winced, and Eliot could tell he was remembering the beating he’d taken at Faith’s hands. “I’m still not sure I’m okay with calling it a good thing, though.”

“I hear that,” Eliot said. After another moment of silence, he sighed. “Guess I should probably get going.” He extended his hand to Dean. “You three ever get up Boston way, you’ve got a safe house.”

Dean shook it. “And an extra gun hand?” Eliot looked reluctant for a half-second, then nodded. The two men hugged.

“Sorry to interrupt.” They turned to see Faith standing at the doorway. “I wanted to talk to Eliot for a sec.”

Shaking Eliot’s hand one more time, Dean went to his wife and kissed her – a long, slow gentle kiss that showed Eliot as much as Dean’s previous worry how much the two of them really loved each other. “Behave,” Dean said, cupping her cheek and looking into her eyes.

Faith snorted. With a truly comical “what can you do?” look at Eliot, Dean disappeared inside.

“Well,” Eliot said, once Faith had joined him at the porch railing. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like some territory’s been staked.”

Faith glanced back at the door briefly, a small, secretive smile on her face. “It’s got nothing to do with you,” she said, turning back to him again. “Or us. Believe me.”

Against all odds, Eliot did.

“So,” he said, after a moment of awkward silence, “I guess this is good-bye?”

Faith smiled at him. Eliot was amazed to see what he suspected was her truest nature – the one only a small handful of people ever got to see. “I wanted to thank you,” she said. “For everything. You’ve been a great friend to all of us.” She chuckled. “Better than we probably deserved, under the circumstances.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. Faith turned her head and kissed him back on the mouth – a pale echo of the kiss she’d given Dean, but enough to remind him of the other time they’d kissed each other.

Eliot was slightly breathless when they separated, and he found his mind wandering back to that night, and the promise he’d made to do “all kinds of things to her” when they had the time.

Faith, however, had sobered. “I need you to understand something,” she said. “This?” She gestured between them, “Sex and pheromones. You’re a good man, Eliot Spencer and a helluva good lay, but those two boys in there are the ones that have my heart.”

Eliot glanced towards the door where Dean had disappeared. When he looked back, Faith was smiling at him. “He told me what happened between you guys.”

Eliot met her gaze without flinching. “We didn’t do anything.” _Certainly not as much as you and I did,_ he thought, although he left those words unspoken.

Faith laughed. “So not the point, unless something does happen in the future and you don’t think about inviting me along.” Abruptly she sobered again. “Unlike me, Dean gives his heart and his trust a little too freely. He’s going to come to you at some point in the future about this. I just want you to remember what I said when he does.” Now she looked genuinely uncomfortable. “Promise me whatever happens between you two that you won’t bruise his heart.”

It was an easy promise for Eliot to make.

  


Dean was in the library, feet propped up on the rickety coffee table when Faith finally returned inside. Outside the sound of Eliot Spencer’s truck was fading in the distance. “That was awful damn chick flick out there,” he said, gesturing her over. “’Don’t bruise his heart?’ Who writes your dialogue, woman?”

Faith straddled his lap, pressing herself deliberately against his groin. Dean’s breath hitched out in a soft, pleased moan. “Don’t you dare make fun of how I choose to watch out for you.”

Dean let her see how much she was affecting him, threading fingers into her hair and clenching his hand into a fist. Faith closed her eyes briefly and shivered. “Maybe I need to start bringing you hearts and flowers before I fuck you?”

“Maybe you just need to shut up and fuck me.”

  



End file.
